The pilot has a Southern drawl, and I'm loving it
as she tells the altitude we are cruising,
the passing regions neath the 800 miles of cloud,
that has not let us see through the windows since takeoff,
and oh yes, the blue moon somewhere out there
at us peeping.
Darn, these Southerners are all first class charm and business.
If the flight runs into trouble,
let it be a Texas angel to inform me
or a voice from Sweet Home Alabama
or from slow as molasses Mississippi.
The last damn thing, I'd wanna hear
is a guy that sounds like a Wall Street banker
telling us he might have to ditch the Boeing.
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