City light, first class seat ticket, re-booked for the flight
Whitey, with a pretty wife
Midi don't know me, sharp like a kitchen knife
No one bother people a criticize
True me take the microphone and a sing a night
A mile high, feel fit my way, my way, my way, my way
If we rise and feel like we smoke we get higher
Fly away, fly away, fly away
Grasses we abide by
Me think set like the breeze when the highway down
So quiet when short me like you know she say my name