Tom Waits - Putnam County Lyrics

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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 suck 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 ass than a toilet seat

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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 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 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 glass 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 bastard amber velveeta yellow cab

On a rainy corner and be blowin' its horn in every window in town

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