Luyện nghe bài hát Audubon

Well, I was born in a called Audubon
Southwest Iowa, right it oughta been
houses, fourteen saloons,
And a feed in nineteen-thirty.
Had a neon sign, "Squealer Feeds"
And the bus through when they felt the need
And they stopped at a place there in town called The Old Cafe

Now my daddy was a music man
He stood six-foot-seven, had big ol'
He'd lost two fingers in a chainsaw but he could play the violin
And Mom played piana, just the keys in the
And Dad played a storm on his three-fingered
'Cause that's all there was to do back folks, except ta go downtown and watch haircuts

So I was raised on Dust tunes, you see
Had a radio an' no TV
It was so hot I had to wet the bed in the summer just to keep cool.
Yeah, a night I'd lay awake
for a distant station break
Just and a-wettin' an' a-lettin' that radio fry.

Well, I listened to and Tulsa and Dallas
And Oklahoma City my ear a callus
And I'll never them announcers at three A.M.
They'd come on an' say "Friends, many a soul who needs us
"So them letters an' cards ta Jesus
"That's friends, in care a' Del Rio, Texas."

But the place I remember, on the edge a'
Was the place you really got the hard-core sound
Yeah, a place where the truckers used ta stop on their way to Moins
was signs all over them windowsills
Like "If the don't get ya, then Roosevelt will"
And "The bank don't sell no beer, and we don't no checks."

Now them truckers never talked about but haulin'
And the four-letter words was really
They thought them home-town gals was nothin' but toys for amusement.
Chevys and Macks and big ol' stacks
They's always complainin' their livers an' backs
But they was fast-livin', strung-out, son of a guns

Now the gal waitin' was really classy
Had a rebuilt motor on a fairly new
And she knew how to handle truckers; name was Mavis Davis
Yeah, she'd pour 'em a coffee, then she'd bat her
she'd listen to 'em tell 'er some big fat lies
Then she'd ask 'em how the wife and kids was, back in Joplin?

Now Mavis had all of her in a row
Weighed pounds; put on quite a show
Remind ya of a couple a' Cub tryin' ta set up a Sears, Roebuck pup tent
There's no that she couldn't handle
Next ta her, nothin' could a candle
Not a hell of a lot upstairs, but from on down, Disneyland!

Now the truckers, on the hand, was really crass
They remind ya of a-scratchin' on glass
A-stompin' on in, leavin' tracks all the Montgomery Ward linoleum
Yeah, they'd them counters and kick them stools
They's always fights with the local fools
But one look at Mavis, and turn into a bunch a' tomcats

Well, I'll never forget them gone by
I's just a kid, 'bout four high
But I never forgot lesson an' pickin' and singin', the country way
Yeah, them walkin', truck stop blues
Came back ta life in
As "The Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On Cafe"

Oh, the Old Filler-up An' Keep On A-Truckin'
Oh, the Old Home An' Keep On A-Truckin'
Oh, the Old Home An' Keep On A-Truckin' Cafe
Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On
Oh, the Old Filler-up An' Keep On A-Truckin'
Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On A-Truckin'