High & Dry by Harry O'Connor

I was on my way to a one day stay in Huntsville, Alabama,
Flying high o'er the Southern sky, unwary of the drama
That was to fall upon us all, I sipped my nip of cheer,
Not knowing that, in one hour flat, I'd be sipping three-two beer.

The sun was bright, a perfect flight a thirty thousand feet
And there below, like banks of snow, were clouds far 'neath my seat.
And quick we went in steep descent! The clouds drew rapid near!
And least inclined to come to mind was a glass of three-two beer.

My ears did pop; my heart did stop; the masks fell there before us.
"Take oxygen and breathe it in!" the steward did implore us.
The captain said, "The pressure's dead, but there's no need to fear
For I'll set you down in Knoxville town and buy you three-two beer."

And true to his word, this giant bird in Knoxville airport landed.
And out we filed to breezes mild, in Knoxville airport stranded.
They said, "It will be sometime still before we're out of here,
So go and eat, we'll stand the treat and have some three-two beer."

Now the oddest turn of the whole concern was that they weren't kidding.
Up stepped the wench, my thirst to quench, and waited for my bidding.
Up spoke I, "Martini, dry"; she laughed and said, "My dear,
Whate'er you pay, I'm sorry to say, we've only three-two beer."

So here I sit in a mounting fit, my thirst still unrequited.
Plucked from the sky to a county dry, my thanks for flying United.
And way up there in Bedford fair I'm sure you'll think its queer
That Knoxville men would pass up gin for a glass of three-two beer!