Well oh well, I’m back in the county hell
I just flew in and my arms they feel like hell
I’m so glad to be back in the county hell
I missed the smack, I missed the crack, I missed the killings too
I missed the London Irish girls but especially missed you
The USA never fails to make me blue
Put me in charge, I’d execute the artistic queers
And all the fucking bastards that drink trendy Irish beers
My death squads would be kids from flats all high from sniffing glue
I’d use them to kill rich Brits and the Hasidic Jews
The park bench aristocrats are drinking in the park
And the junkies are still sneaking in for fix up after dark
And Jock laid out on his park bench like it was his home settee
Singing like a fallen angel, me and Bobby McGee
When I’ve done my patriotic chore and burnt London to the ground
I’ll go back home to Nenagh and get pissed every night in town
Like the old folks say, you can’t keep a good man down
And the park bench aristocrats still drinking in the park
The junkies are still sneaking in for fix up after dark
Jock’s still layed out on his park bench like it was his own settee
Singing like a fallen angel, me and Bobby McGee
Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose
Nothing ain’t worth nothing if ain’t free
Feeling good was easy Lord when Bobby sang the blues
Feeling good was good enough for me
Good enough for me and Bobby McGee