well blue-face blues lose the buckles on your boots i've been trying to reach you all week the kites carry kittens through the donner and blitzen on a cold christmas day in their beaks chained to the rock by my own two hands i want to fly by the seat of your pants are you ready to go? come on
yeah blue-face blue there's a tree filled with fruit and i can see no cause to abstain the northern shovelers and the torch-throated warblers plot a course like cortez of spain i'm a copycat and i want to head south ruffle your feathers as i run my mouth are you ready to go? come on
well it's alright
blue-faced blue got to get to the root of all this whirling wildness and woe the man in the belfry wants a lap in the country when the red reads twenty below chained to the rocks by my own two hands i want to fly by the seat of your pants are you ready to go? come on