Let me spin you a tale 'bout a bird of great scale
with feathers of fiery reds.
Of the places she lands and her crews who demand
of their pilots, smoothe hands and cool heads.
They must land on her perch keeping clear of the birch
cause there's no chance of goin' around.
Others have tried and have found with surprise,
Cape Romanzof is more than a thrill!
Once on the ground her crew is then bound
to battle the harsh polar cold.
Their efforts are swift and quickly they shift,
the weight of a load from her hold.
Her hold has been filled with liquor distilled
to bring cheer on those long winter nights,
or with clothing and toys for young girls and boys
who greet her with frantic delight.
When the sun arcs so low that shadows thin grow
every bird shall fly South save one.
With wings made of fire she'll climb ever higher
the best bird to fly save none.
Now I've chewed on your ear it should be very clear this bird and her men share a gift,
to put it quite right, the very finest in flight
they're the Firebirds of Arctic Airlift.