Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel spread out over the linoleum
pushers stretched out over midriff bulge
And the brunette curls over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the moaned in pool hall concentration
And, and knit their brows to cover the
Hank songbook whether you like 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
Bernice will be putting the on the tables
Someone come in say "Hey man, got
Any Jumper Cables, is a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town would 'em down
And claim to as they stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get more ass than a toilet

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were 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 gears, shiftin' into first
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's 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.
With to borrow and goodnight kisses
As the radio spit out Charlie
Man and he can sing that son of a bitch
And you weave home, yeah, weavin'
the little 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 over
On the drainin' board, and the runnin'
Ah, Christ shake the handle and the ringin'
It's Mrs and where the hell are my goddamn sandals?
What do you mean the dog up my left foot?
With the poodles and the glass swans
Staring down from the knick knack
And the parent slips for the kids' field trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping the shag carpet

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