Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

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

And the Stratocaster slung over the meister Beer Guts
Swizzle stick legs jackknifed over naughahyde
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
Pedal pushers out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Lauder, smells so sweet
And I up at the counter with mixed feelings over mixed drinks
As and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall concentration
And, and knit their brows to cover the
Hank Williams songbook 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
Bernice will be putting the on the tables
come 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 claim to fame as they their feet
Yeah, boastin' about being able to get more ass than a toilet

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were and wheezin'
And they perculated as they the gravel underneath the fenders
Weave a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, shiftin' into
Yeah and that goddamn just gettin' worse
With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and on carburettors
Talkin' about money to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

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

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, your money's right over there
On the drainin' board, and the toilet's
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 foot?
With the poodles and the glass swans
Staring down from the knack shelf
And the parent slips for the kids' field trips
And a pair of scraping across the shag carpet

And the squint of first light
And it that 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 and be blowin' its horn, in every window in town