Skyjacker
Fake name in a three piece suit
Lied and ticked no explosives
They didn't ask about no parachute
Request granted for an aisle seat
Legroom to spare
Could I grab a bourbon soda, please
Fine white dress miss, avoid red wine
I expect some turbulence in just over an hour's time
A quick stop in Tacoma
It's impossible to track a loner
Transcending mythology
Descending, watching eyes ain't seeing me
Briefcase secured, loot counted and stacked
Tray table secured, cabin crew prepare for crash
The bomb is armed, manoeuvres smooth
So if I hit this red handle, will that blow the hatch
November twenty-four, 'seventy-one
Northwest Orient F three hundred and five
A quick stop in Tacoma
It's impossible to track a loner
Transcending mythology
Descending, watching eyes ain't seeing me
Freefall from mile high, air thin, skinny sky
Two minutes, no oxygen to my gills
Altitude right, strap pulled, chute fills
Smooth sailing as I prepare to hit the ground
Timed just right, less than a click from the car waiting in town
News travels slow here in the islands down south
Police sketch? You wouldn't recognise me now
The federales said they found my body in a marsh
Then how am I sipping cocktails beachside through a thick moustache
Lied and ticked no explosives
They didn't ask about no parachute
Request granted for an aisle seat
Legroom to spare
Could I grab a bourbon soda, please
Fine white dress miss, avoid red wine
I expect some turbulence in just over an hour's time
A quick stop in Tacoma
It's impossible to track a loner
Transcending mythology
Descending, watching eyes ain't seeing me
Briefcase secured, loot counted and stacked
Tray table secured, cabin crew prepare for crash
The bomb is armed, manoeuvres smooth
So if I hit this red handle, will that blow the hatch
November twenty-four, 'seventy-one
Northwest Orient F three hundred and five
A quick stop in Tacoma
It's impossible to track a loner
Transcending mythology
Descending, watching eyes ain't seeing me
Freefall from mile high, air thin, skinny sky
Two minutes, no oxygen to my gills
Altitude right, strap pulled, chute fills
Smooth sailing as I prepare to hit the ground
Timed just right, less than a click from the car waiting in town
News travels slow here in the islands down south
Police sketch? You wouldn't recognise me now
The federales said they found my body in a marsh
Then how am I sipping cocktails beachside through a thick moustache
Credits
Writer(s): Thomas Smith
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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