Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster over the Burger meister Beer Guts
Swizzle legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls over eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings over drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in hall concentration
And, and knit their brows to the entire
Hank Williams whether you like it not

And the Old register was singing to the tune of
57 and 57 cents
And its last call, one more game of 8 ball
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 stomped feet
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get more ass than a seat

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

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

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, your lunch money's over there
On the drainin' board, and the runnin'
Ah, Christ shake the handle and the ringin'
It's Mrs Randal and the hell are my goddamn sandals?
do you mean the dog chewed up my left foot?
With the poodles and the glass swans
Staring down from the knick knack
And the parent permission for the kids' field trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping the shag carpet

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