A Hundred Grande

From a lonely little airstrip it's always a long trip To the faraway outposts and back The cloud cover's high and the barometer's on the rise As I look to the tattered wind sack In the first light of day, I'll be winging away To a place where I always feel free Away on my route I'll be thinking of you Sweetheart don't worry 'bout me I fly an airplane across the barren terrain I bring supplies and the mail Way out on the brink, I might be the only link So may the fair skies prevail Twenty-one years high above the frontier Somehow I always made it through I'm an Arctic aviator and a Northern navigator And a first-rate bush pilot backaroo I trust my instincts on shortfield landings Through sleet and snow and overloads I've flown Norsemen and Beavers and everything in between On wheels, on skis, and on floats It was the brothers Wright who first brought us flight And it took my feet right off the ground High up in the wind where the birds had only been To a world up there among the clouds But always beware and always take care Icarus flew too close to the sun Sweetheart don't worry, that won't happen to me My silver wings are made from aluminum I fly an airplane across the barren terrain I bring supplies and the mail Way out on the brink I might be the only link So may the fair skies prevail Twenty-one years high above the frontier Somehow I always made it through I'm an Arctic aviator and a Northern navigator And a first-rate bush pilot backaroo