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 asphalt floor
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and store boots
Were down in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the that 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 taverns would be swollen the naked eye of 2 A.M.

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

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

And the GMC's and the 8 Fords were coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as they the gravel underneath the fenders
home a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, into first
and that goddamn tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya and screwdrivers 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 can sing that son of a bitch
And you weave home, yeah, home
Leavin' the little joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic American
Beneath a pin sky, it's home to toast and honey

startup 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 poodles and the glass swans
Staring down the knick knack shelf
And the parent permission for the kids' field trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping across the shag

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