Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I things were always kinda quiet around Putnam County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it to the skirts of the 2-lane
was stretched out like an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and store boots
Were hunkerin' down in the dirt to lie about lives
And the places that they'd
And they suck on Colas and be spittin' days work
the moon was a stray dog on the ridge and
And the taverns would be swollen until the eye of 2 A.M.

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

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

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 were coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
Weave home a wet, anaconda of a 2-lane
irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, into first
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's just gettin'
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and on carburettors
Talkin' about money to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

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

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, your lunch right over there
On the board, and the toilet's runnin'
Ah, Christ the handle 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 poodles and the glass swans
Staring down from the knick shelf
And the parent permission for the kids' field trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping across the shag

And the impending squint of first
And it that lurked behind a weeping in downtown Putnam
And be pullin' up any minute now
Just a bastard amber, velveeta yellow cab
On a rainy corner and be blowin' its horn, in window in town