Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always kinda quiet around Putnam
Kinda shy and as it clung to the skirts of the 2-lane
That was stretched out like an dance floor
Where all the old in bib jeans and store bought boots
Were hunkerin' down in the to lie about their lives
And the that they'd been
And suck on Coca Colas and be spittin' days work
Until the moon was a dog on the ridge and
And the taverns would be until the naked eye of 2 A.M.

And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel spread out the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls over Maybelline
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings over drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters in pool hall concentration
And, and knit their brows to cover the
Hank songbook whether you like it not

And the Old National register was singing to the of
57 and 57 cents
And then its last call, one more game of 8
Bernice will be the chairs on the tables
Someone come in say "Hey man, got
Any Jumper Cables, is a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town would 'em down
And claim to fame as they stomped their
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get more ass than a seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were and wheezin'
And they perculated as they the gravel underneath the fenders
Weave home a wet, slick anaconda of a
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony
You're gears, shiftin' into first
Yeah and that goddamn just gettin' worse
With the melodies of ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop about money to and palominos and strawberry roans

See you tomorrow, to the Mrs.
money to borrow and goodnight kisses
As the spit out Charlie Rich
Man and he sure can sing son of a bitch
And you weave home, yeah, weavin'
Leavin' the little joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic night
Beneath a pin cushion sky, it's to toast and honey

Gotta the Ford, yeah, your lunch money's right over there
On the drainin' board, and the runnin'
Ah, Christ shake the and the telephone's ringin'
Mrs Randal and where the hell are my goddamn sandals?
What do you mean the dog chewed up my left
With the porcelain poodles and the glass
Staring down from the knack shelf
And the parent permission slips for the kids' field
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping across the shag

And the impending of first light
And it that lurked behind a weeping in downtown Putnam
And they'd be pullin' up any now
Just like a bastard amber, yellow cab
On a rainy corner and be blowin' its horn, in every window in