Date: 10 Oct 94 03:52:45 EDT From: Paul Woodford <72772.2633@compuserve.com> To: Ed Cray , Zippy Subject: Martial Musical Merriment Hey guys, Last week my father mailed me a songbook I didn't know he'd borrowed, and that I'd been looking for for years. It's the songbook my squadron mates and I put together in Alaska in 1982, when I was assigned to the 43rd TFS. I never was in a fraternity or on a sports team, so it wasn't till I began flying fighters in 1978 that I started hearing drinking songs (which are very popular in the military, of course). By the time I got to Alaska I'd memorized a hundred or so, and with the help of other pilots a songbook emerged. You already know most of those songs. What I love about this songbook, however, are the old Air Force flyin' and fightin' songs, from WWI to WWII to Korea to Vietnam. Some of them are great fun to sing, particularly Dear Mom. I think I'm going to add a military section to Hash Hymns III and throw these in. Any help you can give me with melodies, etc, is greatly appreciated. On On, Flying Booger STAND TO YOUR GLASSES Melody--??? 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. Note: I wish I knew the history of this song. It doesnt have the expected American military mix of optimism and cynicism, so I suspect it originated in another country, maybe Germany or England. COME AND JOIN THE AIR FORCE Melody--??? 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 engines 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! Note: This song has been around since the 1930s, when Fokkers instead of MiGs shot you down. A "TWX," pronounced "twix," is a 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. THROW A NICKEL ON THE GRASS (Korea version) Melody--Same as 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 me 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! Note: "Skoshe" is Japanese for "little"; "E and E" is "escape and evasion." THROW A NICKEL ON THE GRASS (Vietnam version) Melody--Same 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. Note: "SAMs" are surface-to-air missiles. American military planners divided Vietnam into "Route Packages" for air operations. "Route Package Six," also known as "Route Pack Six," included Hanoi and environs, the most heavily-defended part of the country. STRAFE THE TOWN Melody--Ring the Bells and Call the People 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. Note: "High drags" are bombs; "20 millimeter" (or "mike mike") are rounds from the aircrafts cannon. RED RIVER VALLEY Melody--Same 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 were going, And Im 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 theres no flak where were going, S-2 said theres no flak on the way. Theres a dark overcast oer the target, Im 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 were 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 dont 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 dont heed. Theyll be waiting at the Hanoi Hilton, And its 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 couldnt 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 were going to the Red River Valley, And my call sign for today is Teak Lead. Note: "S-2" is intelligence; "AAR" is pronounced A-A-R, and stands for air-to-air refueling. ITAZUKE TOWER Melody--??? "Itazuke Tower, this is Air Force 801, Im turning on the downwind leg, my prop has overrun. My coolants overheated, the gauge says 1-2-1, Youd better get the crash crew out ahd 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. Youre not cleared in the pattern, now that is plain to see, So take it once around again, youre not a VIP." "Itazuke Tower, this is Air Force 801, Im turning on my final, Im running on one lung. Im gonna land this Mustang no matter what you say, Im gonna get my charts squared up before that Judgement Day." "Now listen, Air Force 801, this is Itazuke Tower, Wed like to let you land right now, but we havent got the power. Well 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, Im up in Pilots Heaven and my flying days are done. Im sorry that I blew up, I couldnt make the grade, I guess I should have waited till the landing was okayed." TCHEPONE Melody--The Strawberry Roan ("Sweet Betsy from Pike" might work, too) 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, "Im 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, its an old-time milk run." I gits all excited and asks where its at, He gives me a wink and a tip of his hat. "Its three-fifty miles to the northwest of home, A small peaceful hamlet thats know as Tchepone." (Ah, youll 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, Twos tucked in tight and we havent a care. In forty-five minutes were over the town, >From twenty-eight thousand were 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 thats comin they surely dont know; But the thought passes quickly, we know a wars on, And on down we scream toward peaceful Tchepone. Release altitude, and the pippers not right, Ill 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; Theres small arms and tracers and heavy ack-ack, Its scattered to broken with all kinds of flak. I jink hard to left and head out for the blue, My wingman says, "Lead! Theyre 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 Id sure like a word; But hes nowhere around, though I look near and far, Hes gone back to Seventh to help run the war. Ive been round this country for many a day, Ive seen the things that theyre throwin my way; I know that theres places I dont like to go, down in the Delta and in Tally-Ho, But Ill bet all my flight pay the jock aint been born, Who can keep all his cool when hes over Tchepone. Note: "Dial in the mils" is about depressing the pipper, which is depressed in miliradians, which . . . well, it's about setting up the bomb sight, okay? DASHING THROUGH THE SKY Melody--Jingle Bells 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. Heads up Ho Chi Minh, The Fives are on their way, Your luck it has give in, Theres 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! Note: "T.R.V.," Id have to guess, is a particular target. "Daddy Vulcan" refers to the aircrafts Vulcan cannon. GIVE ME OPERATIONS Melody--Popeye the Sailor Man? Dont give me a P-38, The props they counter-rotate, Theyre scattered and smitten from Burma to Britain, Dont 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. Dont give me a p-39, The engine is mounted behind, Theyll tumble and spin and auger you in, Dont give me a P-39. Dont give me a Peter Four-Oh, A hell of an airplane I know, A ground loopin bastard, youre sure to get plastered, Dont give me a Peter Four-Oh. Dont give me a P-51, It was alright for fighting the Hun, But with coolant tank dry, youll run out of sky, Dont give me a P-51. Dont give me a P-61, For night flyin is no fun, They say its a lark, but Im scared of the dark, Dont give me a P-61. Dont give me an F-84, Shes just a gound-lovin whore, Shell whine, moan, and wheeze, and shell clobber the trees, Dont give me an F-84. Dont give me an old Thunderbolt, It gave many a pilot a jolt, It looks like a jug and it flies like a tug, Dont give me an old Thunderbolt. Dont give me a jet Shooting Star, Itll go, but not very far. Itll rumble and spout, but soon will flame out, Dont give me a jet Shooting Star. Dont give me an F-86, With wings like broken match sticks, Theyll zoom and theyll hover, but as for top cover, Dont give me an F-86. Dont give me an F-89, Though Time says theyll really climb, Theyre all in the States, all boxed up in crates, Dont give me an F-89. Dont give me an F-94, Its never established a score, It may fly in weather, but wont hold together, Dont give me an F-94. Dont give me an 86-D, With rockets, radar, and A/B, Shes fast, I dont care, she blows up in midair, Dont give me an 86-D. Dont give me a C-45, So slow it stalls out in a dive, A ground loop built in it, and bird colonels in it, Dont give me a C-45. Dont give me a C-54, Six inches of rugs on the floor, And well go fat-cattin from here to Manhattan, Dont give me a C-54. Dont give me a B-45, The pilots dont get back alive, The MiG-15s chase em, they soon will erase em, Dont give me a B-45. Dont give me a One-Double-Oh, The bastard is ready to blow, The A/B is there, but youre sayin a prayer, Dont give me a One-Double-Oh. Dont give me an F-102, It never goes up when its blue, An all-weather coffin, that flames out so often, Dont give me an F-102. Dont give me a Phantom 4C, Radar, co-pilot, A/B, It may be some fun, but it dont have a gun, Dont give me a Phantom 4C. DEAR MOM Melody--Itself 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, Ive got a truck thats stalled." The DASC said, "Thats all right, Ill 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"): Motherfuckers dead, motherfuckers dead, Sons 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. WHOOEE! Cocksucker, motherfucker, eat a bag of shit, Cunt hair, douche bag, bite your mothers tit. Were the best fighter squadron, all the others suck. Bronco FAC, Bronco FAC, rah, rah, FUCK! Note: "FAC" = forward air controller; "DASC" = direct air support coordinator; "Stinger Flight," "Hornets" = aircraft and crews of the 43rd Tactical Fighter Squadron. NAPALM STICKS TO KIDS Melody--??? 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, "Therell 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. Ive 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 wont 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. Ive been told its 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 mothers tit, Wounded gooks down in a pit, Dow Chemical doesnt give a shit, Napalm sticks to kids. Bombadiers dont 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 dont 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 its two for one, Napalm sticks to kids. Shoot civilians where they sit, Take some pictures as you split, All your life youll 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. Note: "Frags" = fragmentation bombs. "Flechettes" are bits of tiny anti-personnel scrapnel coated with a strong 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. YOU CAN TELL A FIGHTER PILOT 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 CANT TELL HIM MUCH! 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, Theyre 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, hes 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, its naughty, naughty, naughty, but its nice, Oh, its naughty, naughty, naughty, but its nice, Itll wreck your reputation, but increase the population, Oh, its naughty, naughty, naughty, but its nice. ITS HARD TO BE HUMBLE Melody--Oh Lord, Its Hard to be Humble Oh Lord, its hard to be humble, When youre flying the great F-15. I cant wait to strap on my Eagle, Shes one helluva mean gray machine. To know her is to love her, By God?you know what I mean! Oh Lord, its hard to be humble, When youre flying the great F-15. Were proud to be Hornets, Were the best and we just cant be beat. Just ask the boys whove fought us, Theyll tell you we dont know defeat. To know us is to love us, Were one helluva bunch of good guys. Oh Lord, its hard to be humble, When you know that youre rulin the skies. The MiGs they cant ignore us, But we hope theyll give it a try. All we ask is a chance to meet them, Well blow em right out of the sky. Like we said, we try to be humble, And for those who dont see it that way, Thank God were fightin on your side, Cause we mean every word that we say. YANKEE AIR PIRATE 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 dont get my hundred Ill die. Ive carried iron bombs on the outboards, Flown fast CAP for F-One-Oh-Thuds, Ive sniveled a counter or two once or twice, And sweated my own rich red blood. Ive been downtown to both bridges, To that Nguyen, Dep, and Phuc Yen, And if you ask me, then Im sure you can see, Theres no place up there I aint been. BENEATH A KOREAN WATERFALL 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: "Were gling to a better land where everything is bright, Where whiskey flows from telephone poles, play poker every night! We havent 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!"