Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess were always kinda quiet around Putnam County
Kinda shy and as it clung to the skirts of the 2-lane
That was stretched out an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old timers in bib jeans and store bought
Were hunkerin' 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 moon was a dog on the ridge and
And the taverns be swollen until the naked eye of 2 A.M.

And the Stratocaster slung over the meister Beer Guts
Swizzle stick jackknifed over naughahyde stools
And the witch spread out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette 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 moaned in pool hall concentration
And, and knit their brows to the entire
Williams songbook whether you like it not

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

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were and wheezin'
And they as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders
Weave home a wet, slick anaconda of a
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a saddle
You're grinding gears, shiftin' into
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's just gettin'
the melodies of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop about money to and palominos and strawberry roans

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

startup the Ford, yeah, your lunch money's right over there
On the drainin' board, and the runnin'
Ah, Christ shake the handle and the telephone's
It's Mrs Randal and where the 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 knack shelf
And the parent permission slips for the field trips
And a pair of Muckalucks scraping 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
like a bastard amber, velveeta yellow cab
On a rainy and be blowin' its horn, in every window in town