Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess were always kinda quiet around Putnam County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it clung to the of the 2-lane
That was stretched out an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and bought boots
Were down in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the places that they'd
And they suck on Colas and be spittin' days work
the moon 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 the Burger meister Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed naughahyde stools
And the witch spread out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls over eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in pool concentration
And, and their 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 game of 8
Bernice will be the chairs on the tables
come in say "Hey man, anyone got
Any Jumper Cables, is a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the in town would toss 'em down
And to fame as they stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' being able to get more ass than a toilet seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were and wheezin'
And they perculated as they tossed the gravel the fenders
Weave home a wet, anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', a tool box and a pony saddle
grinding gears, shiftin' into first
Yeah and that tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
shop 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, weavin'
Leavin' the joint winking in the dark, warm, narcotic American night
a pin cushion sky, it's home to toast and honey

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

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