Tom Waits - Putnam country - live lyrics

I guess things were always kinda quiet around Putnam County Kinda shy and sleepy as it clung to the skirts of the 2-lane That was stretched out like an asphalt dance floor Where all the old timers in bib jeans and store bought boots Were hunkerin' down in the dirt to lie about their lives And the places that they'd been And they s** on Coca Colas and be spittin' days work Until the moon was a stray dog on the ridge and And the taverns would be swollen until the naked eye of 2 A.M And the Stratocaster slung over the Burger meister Beer Guts Swizzle stick legs jackknifed over naughahyde stools And the witch hazel spread out over the linoleum floors Pedal pushers stretched out over midriff bulge And the coiffed brunette curls over Maybelline eyes Wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder, smells so sweet And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings over mixed drinks As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall concentration And, and knit their brows to cover the entire Hank Williams songbook whether you like it not And the Old National register was singing to the tune of 57 dollars and 57 cents And then its last call, one more game of 8 ball Bernice will be putting the chairs on the tables Someone come in say "Hey man, anyone got Any Jumper Cables, is that a 6 or 12 volt?" And all the studs in town would toss 'em down And claim to fame as they stomped their feet Yeah, boastin' about being able to get more a** than a toilet seat And the GMC's and the Straight 8 Fords were coughin' and wheezin' And they perculated as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders Weave home a wet, slick anaconda of a 2-lane Tire irons and a crowbars a-rattlin', with a tool box and a pony saddle You're grinding gears, shiftin' into first Yeah and that goddamn tranny's just gettin' worse With the melodies of 'See ya laters' and screwdrivers on carburettors Talkin' shop about money to loan and palominos and strawberry roans See you tomorrow, hello to the Mrs With money to borrow and goodnight kisses As the radio spit out Charlie Rich Man and he sure can sing that son of a b**h 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 home to toast and honey Gotta startup the Ford, yeah, your lunch money's right over there On the drainin' board, and the toilet's runnin' Ah, Christ shake the handle and the telephone's ringin' It's Mrs Randal and where the hell are my goddamn sandals? What do you mean the dog chewed up my left foot? With the porcelain poodles and the gla** swans Staring down from the knick knack shelf And the parent permission slips for the kids' field trips And a pair of Muckalucks scraping across the shag carpet And the impending squint of first light And it that lurked behind a weeping marquee in downtown Putnam And they'd be pullin' up any minute now Just like a ba*tard amber, velveeta yellow cab On a rainy corner and be blowin' its horn, in every window in town