Tom Waits - Putnam County - Текст песни

I guess things was always kinda quiet


around Putnam County


Kinda shy and sleepy


as it clung to the skirts of the two-lane


that was stretched out like an asphalt dance floor.


Where all the old timers in big jeans


and storebought boots


were hunkerin' down in the dirt


to lie about their lives and the places they've been


And they'd suck on Coca-colas


And be spittin days' work


Until the moon was a stray dog on the ridge


And the taverns would be swollen


until the naked eye of 2 AM


And the Stratocasters slung over the Burgermeister Beer Guts


Swizzlestick legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools


And the witch hazel spread out over linoleum floors


Pedal pushers stretched out over a midriff bulge


And the quaffed brunette curls over Mabeline eyes


Wearin' prince matchin' belly or somethin


And the water smells so sweet


And my eye over the counter


with mixed feelings over mixed drinks


As Bubba and the road masters


moan in poolhall concentration


and knit their brows


to cover the entire Hank Williams songbook


whether you like it or not


And the Old National register was singin to the tune


of fifty seven dollars and fifty seven cents


And it's last call


One more game of eight ball


Bernice'll be puttin the chairs on the tables.


And someone come in and said


"Hey man anybody got any jumper cables?"


"Is that a six or twelve volt?"


"...man I dunno..."


And all the studs in town


would toss em' down


And claim to fame


as they stomp their feet


boastin' about bein' able to get more ass than a toilet seat


And the GMCs and the straight A Fords 


were coughin and wheezin


And they perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders


and weave home a wet-slick Anaconda of a two lane


Tire irons and crowbars a-rattlin


With a toolbox and a pony saddle


You're grindin gears as you switch into first


That tranny's just gettin' worse


With a melody of see you laters


And screwdrivers on carbeurators


Talkin shop about money to loan,


Halabino's Strawberry Rolls


See you tomorrow


Hello to the Missus


Money to borrow


Goodnight kisses


As the radio spits out Charlie Rich


And that jerk can't sing


that son of a bitch


And you weave home


Yeah, weavin' home


Leavin' the little joint winking


in the dark, warm, narcotic American night


beneath a pin-cushion sky


It's almond toasted honey


gotta start up at four


yeah the lunch money's there on the ironin board


And the toilet's runnin


Ah, Christ, shake the handle


And the telephone's ringing,


it's Mrs. Randle


and where the hell are my goddamn sandles?


I mean the dog chewed up my left foot


With the porcelein poodles and the glass swans starin' down from the knickknack shelves


and the parent permission slips for the kids' field trips


And a pair of Muckelaks


strafin' across the shag carpet


And the impending squint of first light


And it lurked behind a weepin marquee


of Downtown Putnam


Now it'll be pullin up any minute now


Like a bastard, amber, Velveeta yellow cab


On a rainy corner


And he's blowin his horn


in every window in town.