SKY KING

Every morning at the line you could see him arrive
He stood five foot six, about one eighty five
About as broad at the shoulder as he was at the hip
And everybody knew he didn't give a shit
Sky King

Now, some say Sky was born in New Orleans
Where he built hisself a rotor on a sewing machine
Cut his teeth on a collective pitch
Old Sky was a low flying son of a bitch
Sky King

Sky King, Sky King, short fat Sky

And then came a day at stage field nine
When his engine failed and men started crying
And sirens screamed and hearts beat fast
And everybody thought he'd breathed last
'Cept Sky

Well he pushed that collective on down through the floor
But the damn rotor blade wouldn't turn anymore
So his butt puckered up and with a frightening sound
He just sucked that old chopper up off of the ground
Sky King

The ship wasn't hurt but it took half the class
To get the seat cover out of Sky King's ass
Sky King

Sky King, Sky King, short fat Sky

Well they never reopened that landing strip
They just put a marble stand on top of it
And these few words are written on that thing
There ain't a butt that can pucker like old Sky King's

Sky King, Sky King, short fat Sky