Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I things were always kinda quiet around Putnam County
shy and sleepy as it clung to the skirts of the 2-lane
That was out like an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and store bought
Were down in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the places that been
And they suck on Coca Colas and be days work
the moon was a stray dog on the ridge and
And the taverns be swollen until the naked eye of 2 A.M.

And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger meister Beer
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed over stools
And the witch hazel spread out the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed curls over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, so sweet
And I elbowed up at the counter with feelings over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall
And, and knit their brows to the entire
Hank songbook whether 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
will be putting the chairs on the tables
Someone in say "Hey man, anyone got
Any Cables, is that a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town toss 'em down
And to fame as they stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' about able to get more ass than a toilet seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 were coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as they tossed the underneath the fenders
Weave home a wet, slick of a 2-lane
Tire and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, into first
Yeah and that tranny's just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and on carburettors
Talkin' shop about money to loan and palominos and strawberry

See you tomorrow, to the Mrs.
money 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, home
Leavin' the little 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 right over there
On the drainin' board, and the toilet's
Ah, shake the handle and the telephone's 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 knack shelf
And the parent permission slips for the kids' trips
And a pair of scraping across the shag carpet

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