Luyện nghe bài hát Putnam County

I guess things were always quiet around Putnam County
Kinda shy and sleepy as it clung to the of the 2-lane
That was out like an asphalt dance floor
Where all the old in bib jeans and store bought boots
Were down in the dirt to lie about their lives
And the places that been
And they suck on Coca Colas and be days work
Until the was a stray 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 legs jackknifed naughahyde stools
And the witch hazel spread out over the floors
Pedal stretched out over midriff bulge
And the coiffed brunette curls over eyes
Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Lauder, smells so sweet
And I elbowed up at the with mixed feelings over mixed drinks
As and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall concentration
And, and their brows to cover the entire
Hank Williams songbook whether you it not

And the Old register was singing to the tune of
57 and 57 cents
And then its last call, one more game of 8
Bernice will be putting the 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 would toss 'em
And claim to as they stomped their feet
Yeah, boastin' about being to get more ass than a toilet seat

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

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

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

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