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