Little man where are we taking you
Hold onto her hand tight
Terminal three is closed
Where must you go

Groggy-eyed bug face,
I think you should wake up now
We're taking you to Chicago
Don't let go of her pretty hands
There's much to see without anyone else

*Thick humid air eats me up
I can smell the American soils
I can see the greens of promised life

White fleet don't talk much
But that's fine with me