Evan Fleischer - Pilots lyrics

Give us a cowgirl to reign over Mars, he sang. Give us a cowboy to shoot the pigeon clay out from between the stars. Give us a statue in the shape of pulp. From island to island he flew, picking up pa**engers for a small fee and dropping them off on another island. We're going to go live in a yurt with a bed in it for a few nights, someone said. Niihau, Kauai, Oahu, Maui, Molokai, Lanai, Kahoolawe, and the Big Island. Flight after flight after flight. That's nice, he said. A tourist had decided to move to Canada because someone had dared to write another newspaper story about the fact that the author writing the piece was leaving New York. Why are you in Maui, then? I asked. Maternity leave, he replied. Sorry, I said. What? Niihau (where he -- ), Kauai (where he -- ), Oahu (he had a few hours to k** here, and --), Maui, Molokai, Lanai, Kahoolawe, and the Big Island. A pair of Silicon Valley nitwits had decided to blow a stack of money traveling back in time to retroactively “disrupt” hitchhiking, making money and corporate bland sauce out of what people might well have been doing on their own, anyway. He made violins in the back of a scuba shop. I read that people sometimes had recording studios in the back of their barbershops, so -- on my day off, after promising to grab a beer with a cloud -- I went to go check it out.