Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always kinda around Putnam County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it to the skirts of the 2-lane
That was stretched out like an asphalt floor
all the old timers in bib jeans and store bought boots
Were hunkerin' down in the dirt to lie their lives
And the that they'd been
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 swollen until the eye of 2 A.M.

And the Stratocaster slung the Burger meister Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed over stools
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers stretched out over midriff
And the coiffed brunette over Maybelline eyes
Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters in pool hall concentration
And, and knit their to cover the entire
Hank Williams songbook whether you it not

And the Old National was singing to the tune of
57 and 57 cents
And then its last call, one more of 8 ball
Bernice be putting 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 town would 'em down
And claim to fame as stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' about able to get more ass than a toilet seat

And the and the Straight 8 Fords were coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
Weave home a wet, slick of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a 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' shop about money to loan and palominos and roans

See you tomorrow, to the Mrs.
With to borrow and goodnight kisses
As the radio out Charlie 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
a pin cushion sky, it's home to toast and honey

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

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