Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger meister Guts
Swizzle legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over bulge
And the brunette curls over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed over mixed drinks
As and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall concentration
And, and knit brows to cover the entire
Hank Williams songbook 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 will be putting the on the tables
come in say "Hey man, anyone got
Any Cables, is that a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town would 'em down
And claim to fame as stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get more ass a toilet seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were and wheezin'
And they perculated as 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 saddle
You're gears, shiftin' into first
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's just worse
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and on carburettors
Talkin' shop about money to and palominos and strawberry roans

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

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, lunch money's right over there
On the drainin' board, and the 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 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 across the carpet

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