Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always kinda quiet around County
Kinda shy and as it clung to the skirts of the 2-lane
That was stretched out like an asphalt dance
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and bought boots
Were hunkerin' down in the dirt to lie about lives
And the places that they'd
And they suck on Coca Colas and be 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 over the Burger meister Beer Guts
stick legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel spread out over the linoleum
Pedal pushers out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet
And I up at the counter with mixed feelings over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall
And, and knit their to cover the entire
Hank songbook whether you like it not

And the Old National was singing 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
Someone in say "Hey man, anyone got
Any Jumper Cables, is a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in 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 8 Fords were coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath the
Weave home a wet, slick of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', a tool box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, shiftin' first
Yeah and that tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on
Talkin' shop money to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

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

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
What do you the dog chewed up my left foot?
With the porcelain poodles and the glass
down from the knick knack shelf
And the parent permission slips for the field trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping the shag carpet

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