Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always quiet around Putnam County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it clung to the of the 2-lane
That was 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
Until the moon was a dog on the ridge and
And the taverns be swollen until the naked eye of 2 A.M.

And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger meister Guts
Swizzle stick jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch spread out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over bulge
And the coiffed brunette over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings over mixed
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in hall concentration
And, and knit their to cover the entire
Hank Williams songbook whether you it not

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

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

See you tomorrow, to the Mrs.
With money to borrow and kisses
As the radio spit out Charlie
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 cushion sky, home to toast and honey

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

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