Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were kinda quiet around 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 in bib jeans and store bought boots
Were hunkerin' in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the places they'd been
And they suck on Coca Colas and be spittin' days
the moon was a stray dog on the ridge and
And the would be swollen until the naked eye of 2 A.M.

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

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

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 were coughin' and wheezin'
And perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
home a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony
You're grinding gears, into first
Yeah and goddamn tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on
Talkin' shop about money to loan and 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 that son of a
And you weave home, yeah, home
Leavin' the joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic American night
Beneath a pin cushion sky, it's to toast and honey

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

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