Leather jacket, Trip to Colorado, drinking from the bottle, don’t wanna waste the glass.In the morning, I pray she’ll still be with me,Like the remnants of this whiskey, she’ll keep clouding up my mind.

She wrote letters to the orphanage the year that she aged out, Came to town to pass the weekend and then never turned around.I was sixteen and a half years old, did what she said I should,Yeah, she’s good.

I kept wandering,Singing ‘bout my mother, trying to call my brother, leaving messages at home.Despite my blessings,I felt hemmed in by the city, like a bird trapped in a chimney, always crashing into walls.

When I got back home to Georgia she was nowhere to be found,‘Til she sat right down beside me and said I should be the next round,I would cry but I think first things first, I’ll probably knock on wood.Yeah, she’s good.

She don’t wanna need, anything like me.

Now she’s laughing, Saying I’m so simple. My fingers trace a dimple on the right side of her spine.Her Christian kindness, ran out of gas in Memphis, but her wanderlust is endless, So she kept on down the road.

I don’t think that either one of us is ever going home,And I know enough about her to be sure there’s things I’ll never know,I can’t tell you how this ends, but bet you that she could.Yeah, she’s good. It’s true. She’s good