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YANKEE AIR PIRATES
There Are No Fighter Pilots Down in Hell Throw a Nickel on the Grass (Korea) Throw a Nickel on the Grass (Vietnam)
Melody - ???
Beneath a Korean waterfall, one bright and sunny day, Beside his shattered Sabrejet, a young pursuiter lay. His parachute hung from a nearby tree, he was not yet quite dead, So listen to the very last words, the young pursuiter said:
"We're going to a better land where everything is bright, Where whiskey flows from telephone poles, play poker every night! We haven't got a thing to do but sit around and sing, And all our crews are women.
"Oh death, where is thy sting!" "Oh death, where is thy sting, ting-a-ling, Oh death, where is thy sting? The bells of hell will ring, ring-a-ling, For you but not for me!"
"Oh, ring-a-ling-a-ling, blow it out your ass, Ring-a-ling-a-ling, blow it out your ass, Ring-a-ling-a-ling, blow it out your ass, Better days are coming bye and bye!"
Melody - Sammy Small? A POW song contributed by Ed Cray
If he's torn or if he's tattered bring him home, bring him home If he's bloody if he's battered bring him home, bring him home
CHORUS: Bring him home he's my father bring him home he's my son And I will not rest till I've counted everyone
If he's dead or if he's dying . . . There government's been lying . . .
In a coffin in a casket . . . On a stretcher in a basket . . .
If his mind's no longer there . . . Bring him back to those who care . . .
From his hut or from his cave . . . As a leper as a slave . . ..
Melody - ??? This song seems to have verses from several wars."TWX," pronounced "twix," is an electronic message.The verse from the Korean War and the final verse (the Air Force became a separate service in 1948) are clearly newer additions, but that's where it stops - it seems Vietnam didn't add a verse . . .F.B.
Come on and join the Air Force, and get your flying pay. You never have to work at all, just fly around all day. While others toil and study hard, and soon grow old and blind, We'll take the air without a care, and you will never mind.
CHORUS: You'll never mind, you'll never mind, Oh, come and join the Air Force, And you will never mind!
Come on and get promoted, as high as you desire, You're riding on a gravy train, when you're an Air Force flyer. But just when you're about to be a general you'll find, The engine cough, the wings fall off, and you will never mind.
And when you loop and spin her, with an awful tear, You find yourself without your wings, but you will never care. For in about two minutes more, another pair you'll find, You'll fly with Peter and his angels sweet, and you will never mind.
You're flying over the ocean, you hear your engine spit, You see your prop come to a stop, the Goddamn engine's quit. The ship won't float, you cannot swim, the shore is miles behind, Oh, what a dish for the crabs and fish, but you will never mind.
I fly up to the Yalu, in my F-Eighty-Six, And here's on thing that you can send to Congress in your TWX, I've only got one engine, Jack, and if that bastard quits, It will be up there all by itself, 'cause I will shit and git!
Oh, someday you'll meet a MiG-15, he'll shoot you down in flames, No use in bellyaching and calling the bastard names, You'll lose your wings, don't worry Mac, another pair you'll find, You'll fly with Pete and the angels sweet, and you will never mind.
Oh, we're just a bunch of Air Force lads, and we don't give a damn, About the groundling's point of view, and all that sort of ham. We want a hundred thousand ships, of each and every kind, And now we've got our own Air Force, so we will never mind!
Melody - Jingle Bells "Foxtrot one-oh-five" is the F-105 Thunderchief."SAM" is a surface-to-air missile."T.R.V." is a particular target."CBUs, Mark 82s, Seven-fifties" are bombs."Daddy Vulcan" refers to the F-105's Vulcan cannon
Dashing through the sky, In a Foxtrot one-oh-five, Through the flak we fly, Trying to stay alive.
The SAMs destroy your calm, The MiGs come up to play, What fun it is to strafe and bomb, The T.R.V. today!
CHORUS: CBUs, Mark 82s, Seven-fifties, too, Daddy Vulcan strikes again, Our Christmas gift to you.
Head's up Ho Chi Minh, The Fives are on their way, Your luck it has give in, There's going to be hell to pay.
Today it is our turn, To make you gawk and stare, What fun it is to watch things burn, And blow up everywhere!
Melody - Itself "FAC"=forward air controller."DASC"=direct air support coordinator."Stinger Flight," "Hornets"= aircraft and crews of the 43rd Tactical Fighter Squadron
Dear Mom, your son is dead, he bought the farm today, He crashed his OV-10 on the Ho Chi Minh highway. He made a rocket pass, and then he busted his ass, Hmm, hmm, hmmmmm.
He flew across the fence to see what he could see, And there it was, as plain as it could be. There was a truck on the road, with a big heavy load. Hmm, hmm, hmmmmm.
He got right on the horn, and gave the DASC a call, "Send me air, I've got a truck that's stalled." The DASC said, "That's all right, I'll send the Stinger Flight, For I AM THE POWER!"
Those Hornets checked right in, gunfighters two by two, Low on gas and tanker overdue. They asked the FAC to mark, just where the truck was parked, Hmm, hmm, hmmmmm.
That Bronco rolled right in , with his smoke to mark, EXACTLY where that truck was parked. But now the rest is in doubt, 'cause he never pulled out, Hmm, hmm, hmmmmm.
With reverence: Dear Mom, your son is dead, he bought the farm today, He crashed his OV-10 on the Ho Chi Minh Highway. He made a rocket pass, then he busted his ass, Hmm, hmm, FUCK HIM!
Sung to "Camptown Races": Motherfucker's dead, motherfucker's dead, Son's comin' home in a body bag, Oh, doo dah day!
Spoken: How did he go?STRAIGHT IN! What was he doing?THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-ONE! Hell of a deal.WHOOOOOEE!
Cocksucker, motherfucker, eat a bag of shit, Cunt hair, douche bag, bite your mother's tit. We're the best fighter squadron, all the others suck. Bronco FAC, Bronco FAC, rah, rah, FUCK!
Melody - Popeye the Sailor Man?
Don't give me a P-38, The props they counter-rotate, They're scattered and smitten from Burma to Britain, Don't give me a P-38.
CHORUS: Just give me operations, Way out on some lonely atoll, For I am too young to die, I just want to grow old.
Don't give me a p-39, The engine is mounted behind, They'll tumble and spin and auger you in, Don't give me a P-39.
Don't give me a Peter Four-Oh, A hell of an airplane I know, A ground loopin' bastard, you're sure to get plastered, Don't give me a Peter Four-Oh.
Don't give me a P-51, It was alright for fighting the Hun, But with coolant tank dry, you'll run out of sky, Don't give me a P-51.
Don't give me a P-61, For night flyin' is no fun, They say it's a lark, but I'm scared of the dark, Don't give me a P-61.
Don't give me an F-84, She's just a gound-lovin' whore, She'll whine, moan, and wheeze, and she'll clobber the trees, Don't give me an F-84.
Don't give me an old Thunderbolt, It gave many a pilot a jolt, It looks like a jug and it flies like a tug, Don't give me an old Thunderbolt.
Don't give me a jet Shooting Star, It'll go, but not very far. It'll rumble and spout, but soon will flame out, Don't give me a jet Shooting Star.
Don't give me an F-86, With wings like broken match sticks, They'll zoom and they'll hover, but as for top cover, Don't give me an F-86.
Don't give me an F-89, Though Time says they'll really climb, They're all in the States, all boxed up in crates, Don't give me an F-89.
Don't give me an F-94, It's never established a score, It may fly in weather, but won't hold together, Don't give me an F-94.
Don't give me an 86-D, With rockets, radar, and A/B, She's fast, I don't care, she blows up in midair, Don't give me an 86-D.
Don't give me a C-45, So slow it stalls out in a dive, A ground loop built in it, and bird colonels in it, Don't give me a C-45.
Don't give me a C-54, Six inches of rugs on the floor, And we'll go fat-cattin' from here to Manhatten, Don't give me a C-54.
Don't give me a B-45, The pilots don't get back alive, The MiG-15's chase 'em, they soon will erase 'em, Don't give me a B-45.
Don't give me a One-Double-Oh, The bastard is ready to blow, The A/B is there, but you're sayin' a prayer, Don't give me a One-Double-Oh.
Don't give me an F-102, It never goes up when it's blue, An all-weather coffin, that flames out so often, Don't give me an F-102.
Don't give me a Phantom 4C, Radar, co-pilot, A/B, It may be some fun, but it don't have a gun, Don't give me a Phantom 4C.
Melody - Wabash Cannonball
"Itazuke Tower, this is Air Force 801, I'm turning on the downwind leg, my prop has overrun. My coolant's overheated, the gauge says 1-2-1, You'd better get the crash crew out and get them on the run."
"Listen, Air Force 801, this is Itazuke Tower, I cannot call the crash crew out, it is their coffee hour. You're not cleared in the pattern, now that is plain to see, So take it once around again, you're not a VIP."
"Itazuke Tower, this is Air Force 801, I'm turning on my final, I'm running on one lung. I'm gonna land this Mustang no matter what you say, I'm gonna get my charts squared up before that Judgement Day."
"Now listen, Air Force 801, this is Itazuke Tower, We'd like to let you land right now, but we haven't got the power. We'll send a note through channels and wait for the reply, Until we get permission back, just chase around the sky."
"Itazuke Tower, this is Air Force 801, I'm up in Pilot's Heaven and my flying days are done. I'm sorry that I blew up, I couldn't make the grade, I guess I should have waited till the landing was okayed."
Melody - Oh Lord, It's Hard to be Humble
Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble, When you're flying the great F-15. I can't wait to strap on my Eagle, She's one helluva mean gray machine. To know her is to love her, By God(you know what I mean! Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble, When you're flying the great F-15.
We're proud to be Hornets, We're the best and we just can't be beat. Just ask the boys who've fought us, They'll tell you we don't know defeat. To know us is to love us, We're one helluva bunch of good guys. Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble, When you know that you're rulin' the skies.
The MiGs they can't ignore us, But we hope they'll give it a try. All we ask is a chance to meet them, We'll blow 'em right out of the sky. Like we said, we try to be humble, And for those who don't see it that way, Thank God we're fightin' on your side, 'Cause we mean every word that we say.
Melody - ??? "Frags"=fragmentation bombs."Flechettes" are bits of anti-personnel scrapnel coated with a fast-acting blood de-coagulant."PSYOPS" is Army-ese for psychological operations, which, coupled with the references to the CIA, Montagnards, and gunships, makes me think this song came out of the "spook" community
We shoot the sick, the young, the lame, We do our best to maim, Because the kills all count the same, Napalm sticks to kids.
CHORUS: Napalm sticks to kids, Napalm sticks to kids.
Flying low across the trees, Pilots doing what they please, Dropping frags on refugees, Napalm sticks to kids.
Goods in the open, making hay, But I can hear the gunships say, "There'll be no Chieu Hoi today," Napalm sticks to kids.
See those farmers over there, Watch me get them with a pair, Blood and guts just everywhere, Napalm sticks to kids.
I've only seen it happen twice, But both times it was mighty nice, Shooting peasants planting rice, Napalm sticks to kids.
Napalm, son, is lots of fun, Dropped in a bomb or shot from a gun, It gets the gooks when on the run, Napalm sticks to kids.
Drop some napalm on a farm, It won't do them any harm, Just burn off their legs and arms, Napalm sticks to kids.
CIA with guns for hire, Montagnards around a fire, Napalm makes the fire go higher, Napalm sticks to kids.
I've been told it's not so neat, To catch gooks burning in the street, But burning flesh, it smells to sweet, Napalm sticks to kids.
Children sucking on a mother's tit, Wounded gooks down in a pit, Dow Chemical doesn't give a shit, Napalm sticks to kids.
Bombadiers don't care a bit, Just as long as the pieces fit, When you stuff the bodies in a pit, Napalm sticks to kids.
Eighteen kids in a No Fire Zone, Rooks under arms and going home, Last in line goes home alone, Napalm sticks to kids.
Chuck in a sampan, sitting in the stern, They don't think their boats will burn, Those damn gooks will never learn, Napalm sticks to kids.
Cobras flying in the sun, Killing gooks is lots of fun, Get one pregnant and it's two for one, Napalm sticks to kids.
Shoot civilians where they sit, Take some pictures as you split, All your life you'll remember it, Napalm sticks to kids.
NVA are all hard core, Flechettes never are a bore, Throw those PSYOPS out the door, Napalm sticks to kids.
Gather kids as you fly over town, By throwing candy on the ground, Then grease 'em when they gather 'round, Napalm sticks to kids.
Melody - Same "S-2" is intelligence; "AAR" is pronounced "A-A-R," and stands for air-to-air refueling
To the Red River Valley we are going, For to get us some trains and some trucks. But if I had my say so about it, I'd still be at home in the sack.
Come and sit by my side at the briefing, Do not hasten to bid me adieu. To the Red River Valley we're going, And I'm flying four in Flight Blue.
We went for to check on the weather, And they said it was clear as could be. I lost my wingman 'round the field, And the rest augered in out at sea.
S-2 said there's no flak where we're going, S-2 said there's no flak on the way. There's a dark overcast o'er the target, I'm beginning to doubt what they say.
To the valley they say we are going, And many strange sights will we see. But the one there that held my attention, Was the SAM that they threw up at me.
To the valley he said he was flying, And he never saw the medal that he earned. Many jocks have flown into the valley, And a number have never returned.
So I listened as he briefed on the mission, Tonight at the bar Teak Flight will sing. But we're going to the Red River Valley, And today you are flying my wing.
Oh, the flak is so thick in the valley, That the MiGs and the SAMs we don't need. So fly high and down-sun in the valley, And guard well the ass of Teak Lead.
Now things turn to shit in the valley, And the briefing I gave, you don't heed. They'll be waiting at the Hanoi Hilton, And it's fish heads and rice for Teak Lead.
We refueled on the way to the valley, In the States it had always been fun. But with thunder and lightning all around us, 'twas the last AAR for Teak One.
When he came to a bridge in the valley, He saw a duty that he couldn't shun. For the first to roll in on the target, Was my leader, old Teak Number One.
Oh, he flew through the flak toward the target, With his bombs and his rockets drew a bead. But he never pulled out of his bomb run, 'twas fatal for another Teak Lead.
So come sit by my side at the briefing, We will sit there and tickle the beads. For we're going to the Red River Valley, And my call sign for today is Teak Lead.
Melody - Ye Jacobites by Name
Oh, come round us fighter pilots, fuck 'em all, Oh, come round us fighter pilots, fuck 'em all, Oh, we fly the Goddamn plane, Through the flak and through the rain, And tomorrow we'll do it again, So fuck 'em all.
Oh, they tell us not to think, fuck 'em all, Oh, they tell us not to think, fuck 'em all, Oh, they tell us not to think, Just to dive and just to jink, LBJ's a Goddamn fink, So fuck 'em all.
Oh, we bombed Mu Gia Pass, fuck 'em all, Oh, we bombed Mu Gia Pass, fuck 'em all, Oh, we bombed Mu Gia Pass, Though we only made one pass, They really stuck it up our ass, So fuck 'em all.
Oh, we're on a JCS, fuck 'em all, Oh, we're on a JCS, fuck 'em all, Oh, they sent the whole damn wing, Probably half of us will sing, What a silly fucking thing, So fuck 'em all.
Oh, we lost our fucking way, fuck 'em all, Oh, we lost our fucking way, fuck 'em all, Oh, we strafed Goddamn Hanoi, Killed every fucking girl and boy, What a Goddamn fucking joy, So fuck 'em all.
Oh, my bird got all shot up, fuck 'em all, Oh, my bird got all shot up, fuck 'em all, Oh, my bird it did get shot, And I'll probably cry a lot, But I think that it's Shit Hot! So fuck 'em all.
Melody - Sammy Small Another POW song contributed by Ed Cray
I have not seen a flower for so long, for so long I have not seen a flower for so long I need to see a flower before my dying hour But I do not have the power as I bid this world so long
I have not seen a face . . . I have not seen a face . . . I need to see a face belonging to my race But I will not in this place as I bid this world so long
I have tried hard to forgive . . . I have tried hard to forgive . . . I have tried hard to forgive a God that lets me live Under laws he should forbid as I bid this world so long
I've been tortured in this cave . . . I've been tortured in this cave . . . I've been tortured in this cave wondering if I would be saved But it soon will be my grave as I bid this world so long
I've been held in Dong Danai . . . I've been held in Dong Danai . . . I've been held in Dong Danai and I very soon will die If you think this song's a lie you are wrong, you are wrong
Melody - ??? I wish I knew the history of this song.It doesn't have the standard American military mix of optimism and cynicism, so I suspect it originated in another country, maybe Germany or England
We stand 'neath resounding rafters, The walls around are bare. They echo back our laughter, Seems that the dead are all there.
CHORUS: Stand to your glasses steady, This world is a world of lies. Here's a health to the dead already, Hurrah for the next man to die.
Denied by the land that bore us, Betrayed by the ones we held dear. The good have all gone before us, To show where our comrades have gone.
In flaming Spad and Camel, With wings of wood and steel. For mortal stakes we gamble, With cards that were stacked for the deal.
Melody - Ring the Bells and Call the People "High drags" are bombs; "20 millimeter" (or "mike mike") are rounds from the aircraft's cannon
Strafe the town and kill the people, Lay your high drags in the square. Roll in early Sunday morning, Catch them while they're still at prayer.
Drop some candy to the orphans, Watch them as they gather 'round. Use your 20 millimeter, Mow the little bastards down.
See the fat old pregnant women, Running through the field in fear. Run your 20 mike mike through them, Hope the film comes out real clear.
Strafe the town and kill the people, Hit them with your poison gas. See them throwing up their breakfast, As you make your second pass.
Melody - The Strawberry Roan ("Sweet Betsy from Pike" might work, too) "Dial in the mils" is about depressing the pipper, which is depressed or elevated in miliradians, which. . . well, it's about setting up the bomb sight, okay?
I was hangin' 'round ops, just spendin' my time, Off of the schedule, not earnin' a dime, A colonel comes up and he says, "I suppose You fly a fighter, from the cut of your clothes." He figgers me right, "I'm a good one," I say, "Do you happen to have me a target today?" Says yes he does, a real easy one, "No sweat, my boy, it's an old-time milk run."
I gits all excitedand asks where it's at, He gives me a wink and a tip of his hat. "It's three-fifty miles to the northwest of home, A small peaceful hamlet that's know as Tchepone." (Ah, you'll sure love Tchepone!)
I go get my G-suit and strap on my gun, Helmet and gloves, out the door on the run; Fire up my Phantom and take to the air, Two's tucked in tight and we haven't a care.
In forty-five minutes we're over the town, From twenty-eight thousand we're screamin' on down. Arm up the switches and dial in the mils, Rack up the wings and roll in for the kill.
We feel a bit sorry for the folks down below, Of destruction that's comin' they surely don't know; But the thought passes quickly, we know a war's on, And on down we scream toward peaceful Tchepone.
Release altitude, and the pipper's not right, I'll press just a little and lay 'em in tight; I pickle those beauties at two-point five grand, Startin' my pull when it all hits the fan.
A black puff in front, and then two off the right, Then six or eight more and I suck it up tight; There's small arms and tracers and heavy ack-ack, It's scattered to broken with all kinds of flak.
I jink hard to left and head out for the blue, My wingman says, "Lead!They're shootin' at you!" And still comes the fire from the town of Tchepone. (Dirty, deadly Tchepone!)
I make it back home with six holes in my bird, With the colonel who sent me I'd sure like a word; But he's nowhere around, though I look near and far, He's gone back to Seventh to help run the war.
I've been 'round this country for many a day, I've seen the things that they're throwin' my way; I know that there's places I don't like to go, down in the Delta and in Tally-Ho, But I'll bet all my flight pay the jock ain't been born, Who can keep all his cool when he's over Tchepone.
THERE ARE NO FIGHTER PILOTS DOWN IN HELL Melody - If You Wanna Go to Heaven Clap Your Hands
Oh, there are no fighter pilots down in hell, Oh, there are no fighter pilots down in hell, The place is full of queers, navigators, bombardiers, Oh, there are no fighter pilots down in hell.
Oh, there are no fighter pilots in the States, Oh, there are no fighter pilots in the States, They're off on foreign shores, making mothers out of whores, Oh, there are no fighter pilots in the States.
Oh, there are no fighter pilots up in wing, Oh, there are no fighter pilots up in wing, The place is full of brass, sitting 'round on their fat ass, Oh, there are no fighter pilots up in wing.
Oh, a bomber pilot never takes a dare, Oh, a bomber pilot never takes a dare, The autopilot on, he's reading novels in the john, Oh, a bomber pilot never takes a dare.
Oh, there are no bomber pilots in the fray, Oh, there are no bomber pilots in the fray, They are all in USOs, wearing womens' fancy clothes, Oh, there are no bomber pilots in the fray.,
Oh, it's naughty, naughty, naughty, but it's nice, Oh, it's naughty, naughty, naughty, but it's nice, It'll wreck your reputation, but increase the population, Oh, it's naughty, naughty, naughty, but it's nice.
THROW A NICKEL ON THE GRASS (Korea version) Melody - Same "Skoshe" is Japanese for little; "E and E" is escape and evasion
It was midnight in Korea, all the pilots were in bed, When up stepped Colonel _______, and this is what he said: "I hate the Goddamn place! Mustangs, gentle pilots, Mustangs one and all, Mustangs, gentle pilots," and the pilots shouted, "Balls!" Then up stepped a young lieutenant with a voice as harsh as brass, "You can take those Goddamn Mustangs, Jack, and shove 'em up your ass!"
CHORUS: Oh hallelujah, oh hallelujah, Throw a nickel on the grass, Save a fighter pilot's ass. Oh hallelujah, oh hallelujah, Throw a nickel on the grass, And you'll be saved!
Cruising down the Yalu doing three-twenty per, I called to my flight leader, "Oh, won't you save me, sir? Got two big flak holes in my wing, my tanks ain't got no gas, Mayday, mayday, mayday!Got six MiGs on my ass!"
I flew my traffic pattern, to me it looked all right, My airspeed read 130, my God, I racked it tight, I turned into the final, my engine gave a wheeze, "Mayday, mayday, mayday!Spin instructions, please!"
Fouled up my crosswind landing, my left wing hit the ground, Came a call from tower: "Pull up and go around." Racked that Mustang in the air a dozen feet or more, I'm on my back, it's worse than flak, why did I use full bore?
Split S into my bomb run, I got too Goddamn low, I pressed the bloody button, let both my babies go, I sucked the stick back in my gut_I hit a high-speed stall, Now I won't see my mother when the work's all done this fall!
They sent my up to Pyongyang, the brief said "Skoshe ack-ack," But by the time I got there, the wings were holed by flak. My aircraft went into a spin, it would no longer fly, "Mayday, mayday, mayday!I'm too young to die!"
I bailed out from that Mustang, my landing was top line, With my E and E equipment, I made for our front line. But when I opened up my ration tin to see what was in it, The Goddamn quartermaster had filled the thing with shit!
Now in this Commie prison camp, I am obliged to sit, For one cannot go very far on a ration tin of shit. If I am ever free again, I will no longer fly, But I'll have quartermaster balls for breakfast till the day I die!
THROW A NICKEL ON THE GRASS (Vietnam version) Melody - Same American military planners divided Vietnam into "Route Packages" for air operations."Route Package Six" included Hanoi and environs, the most heavily-defended part of North Vietnam
We were cruising over Hanoi, doin' four and fifty per, When I called to my flight leader, "Oh, won't you save me, sir? The SAMs are hot and heavy, the MiGs are on our ass, Take us home, flight leader, please don't make another pass!"
CHORUS: Hallelujah, hallelujah, Throw a nickel on the grass, Save a fighter pilot's ass. Hallelujah, hallelujah, Throw a nickel on the grass, And you'll be saved.
I rolled into my bomb run, trying to set the pipper right, When a SAM came off the launch pad, and headed for our flight. Then number two informed me, "Hey, four, you better break!" I racked that Goddamned plane so hard, it made the whole thing shake.
I started my recovery, it seemed that things would be all right, When I felt the damnedest impact, saw a blinding flash of light. We held the stick with all our might, against the binding force, Then number two screamed out at us, "Hey, four, you've had the course!"
I screamed at my back seater, "We'd better punch on out, Eject!Eject!You stupid shit!" in panic I did shout. I didn't wait around to see if Joe had got the word, I reached between my legs and pulled, and took off like a bird.
As I descended in my chute, my thoughts were rather grim, Rather than be a prisoner, I'd fight them to the end. I hit the ground and staggered up, and looked around to see, And there in blazing neon, Hanoi Hilton welcomed me.
Slowly: The moral of this story is, when you're in Package Six, You'd better Goddamn look around, or you'll be in my fix. I'm here at Hanoi Hilton, with luxury sublime, The only thing that's not so great_I'll be here a long, long, long time.
Melody - ???
I am a Yankee air pirate, With DTs and blood-shot eyeballs, My nerves are all run down from bombing downtown, From SAM breaks and bad bandit calls.
CHORUS: A Yankee air pirate, a Yankee air pirate, a Yankee air pirate am I, A Yankee air pirate, a Yankee air pirate, if I don't get my hundred I'll die.
I've carried iron bombs on the outboards, Flown fast CAP for F-One-Oh-Thuds, I've sniveled a counter or two once or twice, And sweated my own rich red blood.
I've been downtown to both bridges, To that Nguyen, Dep, and Phuc Yen, And if you ask me, then I'm sure you can see, There's no place up there I ain't been.
Melody - ???
By the ring around his eyeball, You can tell a bombardier; You can tell a bomber pilot, By the spread around his rear; You can tell a navigator, By his sextants, charts, and such; You can tell a fighter pilot, BUT YOU CAN'T TELL HIM MUCH!
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