Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for a train
And I was feeling nearly as faded as my jeans.
Bobby thumbed a diesel down just before it rained,
It rode us all the way to New Orleans.
I pulled my harpoon out of my dirty red bandanna,
I was playing soft while Bobby sang the blues.
Windshield wipers slapping time, I was holding Bobby’s hand in mine,
And we sang every song that driver knew.
Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose,
Nothin’ don’t mean nothin’, honey, if it ain’t free.
Yeah, feeling good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues,
You know feeling good was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.
From the Kentucky coal mines to the California sun,
Yeah, Bobby shared the secrets of my soul.
Through all kinds of weather, through everything we done,
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