Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always kinda quiet Putnam County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it clung to the skirts of the
That was stretched out like an asphalt floor
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and store bought
hunkerin' down in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the places that they'd
And they suck on Coca and be spittin' days work
Until the was a stray 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 meister Guts
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter mixed feelings over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in hall concentration
And, and knit their to cover the entire
Hank songbook whether you like it not

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

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords coughin' and wheezin'
And they as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
Weave home a wet, anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
grinding gears, shiftin' into first
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's just gettin'
With the of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' about money to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

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

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, your lunch money's over there
On the board, and the toilet's 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 up my left foot?
the porcelain poodles and the glass swans
Staring down the knick knack shelf
And the parent slips for the kids' field trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping across the carpet

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