"Your head's for navigation and for knowing when to flare; Your butt will keep the ball aligned, and more; Your right foot's for the rudder, and your left is for the same, But what's your little middle thingie for?" - Barb MacLeod
(to the tune of "Streets of Laredo" ) There was a young maiden of age fifty seven She cranked and she banked like you've seen none before She cussed and she drank and she smelled to high heaven That Francine McFilthy, the hang gliding whore. We went to a flight meet in Carson Nevada The troops were lined up at the Moonlight Ranch door But out in the bushes one went for a quarter That Francine McFilthy, the hang gliding whore. Old Francine the queen of barnstorming banditos Would give us a rubdown 'til her knuckles were sore She'd set up her glider in fortyfive seconds Then take on three pilots, that hang gliding whore. Old Francine was lovely, she smiled at the preacher A harness and chute was the gown that she wore Behind her sweet backside she gave us the finger That raunchy old bastard, that hang gliding whore. The marriage was short lived and so was old Ernie He crashed through a church roof and died on the floor Francine missed the funeral for a night flight at Chico So what's more important to a hang gliding whore? Then one day it happened, her flying rig tumbled She headed for water, but smacked on the shore Her bloodshot eyes closed as she smiled through her asshole And that was the end of our hang gliding whore. So hang your head low boys and cry in your muscat The pride of McClure is with us no more And the sound that you hear up at launch is not thunder But the ghost of old Francine, our hang gliding whore. And somewhere now up at the cloudstreet eternal Stands someone who hollers and beats on the door Won't you break down and hand out a drink there St. Peter To Francine McFilthy, the hang gliding whore. (This is a variant of Little David's skydiving song by the same name.)
Pilots ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold They'd rather give you a wingtip than diamonds and gold Hot summer mornings, worn out excuses On weekends they're always away And if you don't understand them and they don't die young They'll probably just fly away Mamas don't let your babies grow up to fly gliders Don't let them hold wingtips and gliders and such They'll turn into beer-drinking winos or sluts Mamas don't let your babies grow up to fly gliders They'll never stay home and they'll leave you alone Frustrated and horny all day Pilots love shitty old pastures and hot summer mornings Cheap-ass motels and driving 12 hours a day Them that don't know them won't like them and them that do Sometimes won't know how to take them It ain't that they're crazy it's just that they'd rather Go flying than trying to get laid Mamas don't let your babies grow up to fly gliders Don't let them hold wingtips and gliders and such They'll turn into beer-drinking winos or sluts Mamas don't let your babies grow up to fly gliders They'll never stay home and they'll leave you alone Frustrated and horny all day
(to the tune of "Sixty-Minute Man") Listen here boys, tellin you now, call me Skyking Sam I crank em, bank em all night long, I'm a crankin bankin man If you dont believe I'm all I say, get your girl to take my hand Cuz I crank em, bank em all night long, I'm a crankin bankin man CHORUS Gimme 15 minutes at launch ramp then you'll holler "Please dont stop!" 15 minutes of crankin and 15 minutes of bankin and for 15 minutes my vario is pegged to the top If you dont believe I'm all I say, come up and see old Sam I crank em, bank em all night long, I'm a crankin bankin man INSTRUMENTAL (Honky tonk piano) CHORUS If you dont believe I'm all I say, get your girl to take my hand Cuz I crank em, bank em all night long, I'm a crankin bankin man Crankin bankin man (hangin in) Crankin bankin man (one more time) Crankin bankin man (gotta have it) Crankin bankin man (gonna get it) Crankin bankin man (cant do without it) Crankin bankin man INSTRUMENTAL (Hillbilly guitar) CHORUS If you dont believe I'm all I say, come up and take my hand Cuz when I let you go you'll cry "Oh Lordy, he's a crankin bankin man!" Crankin bankin man (that's right) Crankin bankin man (just take my hand) I'm a crankin bankin man
Well early one day the wind wouldn't blow I was driving up a hill just feeling so low I saw 2 old pilots with a bottle between 'em This is the song I heard them singing CHORUS: Lord preserve us and protect us We been drinking whiskey for breakfast Well I stopped at the top where they were sitting And I couldn't believe how drunk they were getting I said "Hey folks, you been skunked out long?" They said "Long enough to start singing this song!" Lord preserve us and protect us We been drinking whiskey for breakfast Well they passed me the bottle, said "Take a little sip" And it felt so good that I just couldn't quit So I drank a little more, next thing I knew There were 3 of us sitting there singing the blues Lord preserve us and protect us We been drinking whiskey for breakfast Well one by one every pilot in town Heard our ruckus and they all came around And pretty soon all the hills were ringing With the sound of the pilots laughing and singing Lord preserve us and protect us We been drinking whiskey for breakfast Yes Lord preserve us and protect us We been drinking whiskey for breakfast
(to the tune of "I'm a King Bee") I'm a sky king flyin round your sky Yeah I'm a sky king, baby, flyin round your sky Well I can sky out, baby, if you'll just let me fly by your side Well I'm a sky king, won't you be my queen Yeah I'm a sky king, baby, won't you be my queen Together we can sky out like the world has never seen INSTRUMENTAL Well I'm a sky king, baby, I'm gonna crank and bank all night Yeah I'm a sky king, baby, I'm gonna crank and bank all night Well I can crank and bank better, baby, when your man is not at home!
Some gal told me today Boy you're wasting your life away She said it's bad how you spend your time You oughtta quit that goddamn flying CHORUS: I like to sleep late in the morning I don't like to wear no shoes Make love to the women while I'm living Get drunk from a bottle of booze I know I can't keep living this way Getting high from day to day I gotta stop this flying around Get a job and settle down CHORUS I know this can't go on Yes I should get up at dawn Get a job and do it right Be in bed by 8:00 each night Yeah I know this can't go on I know I should get by some how But I know that the best way to be Is the way that just lets you fly naturally CHORUS Hey I know there's alot that's waiting on me But up at cloudbase is where I need to be Up there I'm smiling all the time I've got my hair cut and my shoes shined CHORUS Some gal told me today Boy, you're wasting your life away You need to eat pizza, tacos, and nachos Put a little color back into your face Yeah this gal she said to me today Boy you know you look like you're just wasting away She said it's bad, bad the way you spend your time Boy you know you'll never ever quit that goddamn flying CHORUS CHORUS # # # (from the song "I Like to Sleep Late in the Morning" written and sund by Jerry Jeff Walker on the album "Walker's Collectibles" released by MCA Records)
Mom got stoned and Dad got drunk At our Christmas party We were drinkin' that Hurricane punch And calling everyone else Sled Dog Sister Mary brought her new boyfriend He was a Mexican We didn't know what to think of him 'Till he sang a flyin' song . . . . . . The Sky King song Brother Keith brought his kids with him The three from his first wife Ann And the two identical twins From his second wife Peggy Lynn Of course he brought his fourth wife Kaye (The little sister of his third wife Mae) Fallin' down while the stereo plays A flyin' song again . . . . . . The Telluride Wind CHORUS: Carve the turkey, turn the video on Start drinkin' Slammers when the eggnog's gone Send Jim and JoJo to the Quik-Pac store We need some ice and Johnson's baby oil A jar of salsa and some Diet Rite A box of tampons and some Marlboro Lights Sing flyin' songs and everybody say cheese Merry Christmas from the family Jere and Smacker drove from Oregon I can't remember how I'm kin to them But when they tried to plug their motorhome in They blew our Christmas lights Ken and Shannon knew just what went wrong So we all waited out on our front lawn They threw the breaker and the lights came on And we sang Video Flight . . . . . . and Silent Night CHORUS: Carve the turkey, put the flyin' film on Make Bloody Marys 'cuz we all want one Send Doc and Gibb to the Stop 'n Go We need some asprin and a can of fake snow Some limes and lemons and some Diet Sprite A box of tampons and some Salem Lights Make up some songs and everybody say cheese Merry Christmas from the High Flyin' family
{Webmaster's note: credits and sources on this page will be added as soon as I get a chance to do the research}
*******