Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always kinda 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 bought boots
hunkerin' down in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the places they'd been
And they suck on Coca Colas and be spittin' days
the moon was a stray dog on the ridge and
And the would be swollen until the naked eye of 2 A.M.

And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger meister Guts
Swizzle stick legs over naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel out over the linoleum floors
pushers stretched out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed curls over Maybelline eyes
Wearing Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet
And I up at the counter with mixed feelings over mixed drinks
As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall
And, and knit their brows to the entire
Hank Williams 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 of 8 ball
will be putting the chairs on the tables
Someone come in say "Hey man, 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 stomped feet
Yeah, about being able to get more ass than a toilet seat

And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were coughin' and
And they perculated as they tossed the gravel the fenders
Weave home a wet, slick anaconda of a
Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a box and a pony saddle
You're grinding gears, into first
Yeah and that goddamn tranny's gettin' worse
With the melodies of ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors
Talkin' shop money to loan and palominos and strawberry roans

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

Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, lunch money's right over there
On the board, and the toilet's runnin'
Ah, Christ the handle and the telephone's ringin'
It's Mrs Randal and where the hell are my sandals?
What do you mean the dog chewed up my left
With the poodles and the glass swans
Staring from the knick knack shelf
And the parent permission slips for the kids' trips
And a pair of Muckalucks across the shag carpet

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