Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

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

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

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

See you tomorrow, to the Mrs.
With money to borrow and goodnight
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, American night
a pin cushion sky, it's home to toast and honey

Gotta the Ford, yeah, your lunch money's right over there
On the board, and the toilet's runnin'
Ah, Christ shake the handle and the telephone's
It's Mrs Randal and 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 of Muckalucks scraping across the shag carpet

And the impending squint of light
And it lurked behind a weeping marquee 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 window in town