Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things always kinda quiet around Putnam County
Kinda shy and as it clung to the skirts of the 2-lane
That was out like an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old in bib jeans and store bought boots
Were hunkerin' down in the to lie about their lives
And the that they'd been
And they suck on Coca Colas and be spittin' days
Until the moon was a stray dog on the and
And the taverns would be until the naked eye of 2 A.M.

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

And the Old National register was to the tune of
57 dollars and 57
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 Cables, is that a 6 or 12 volt?"
And all the studs in town would toss 'em
And claim to fame as stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get ass than a toilet seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords coughin' and wheezin'
And they perculated as they tossed the gravel the fenders
Weave home a wet, slick 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 goddamn tranny's gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on
Talkin' shop about to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

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

Gotta the Ford, yeah, your 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 and where the hell are my goddamn sandals?
What do you mean the dog chewed up my left
With the porcelain poodles and the glass
Staring down from the knick knack
And the parent permission slips for the kids' field
And a pair of scraping across the shag carpet

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