Skydiving Songs & Poems

Divers of the Sky

by Hank McCarrick

to the tune "Auld Lang Syne"


The plane is here; the time is near
We'll soon be climbing high
Then jump we must, come hell or bust
We're divers of the sky.
May all go well; our fall will tell
The chutes should open fine
If one be done, t'was worth the fun
For Auld Lang Syne.

As years are gone we'll carry on
Til time to turn to dust
Though weak and maimed, we can't be blamed
For jump by surely we mus.

So toast we may though old and gray
Our glasses raised on high
We'll take a sip for all the rip cord
Divers of the sky.

The Phantom Tenth Man
by Jim Rogers

Flying Fred had cratered in
A week ago and now and then
We saw the spot where he'd been killed
The hole in the ground had just been filled.

It made us stop and it made us think
But we shrugged our shoulders and drank our drinks;
We knew the score when he got his:
Jumping from planes is a dangerous biz.

Fred had given up students and he'd given up style
And he only saw the target every once in a while.
Most of the time he walked country roads
Having just come down from an eight-man load.

Time and again we'd heard Fred say,
"Now save a place, 'cause on the day
That this state sees a ten-man fly
I'm closing tenth before I die."

Well, thinking of what we'd heard Fred say
We decided to hold a memorial day.
The first ten-man still gleamed in our eyes
So on this day we'd give it a try.

With chewing gum and refrigerator tape
We put our Beech into real good shape.
The pilot grinned at the dripping oil
Then strapped on a rig and said, "Let's roll."

The Federal Man thought otherwise;
He threw the book and said, "Look you guys,
You bounced old Fred when you were up last time;
The tenth man stays, You're going with nine."

With tears in his eyes someone got off the load,
Threw his gear in the trunk and drove off down the road.
With thirty-six jumps he'd have probably done fine
But Fred would be happy if we got the first nine.

The Beech took off in a black smoke cloud
Just under the wires and over the crowd!
Spectators ducked and faces got white
And we didn't breathe 'til we were in flight!

We were two hours late when we hit twelve-five
And the pilot yelled with fear in his eyes,
"Get ready you guys, we're going on in
'Cause we're out of gas! Better check my pins!"

"Man in the door!" came a muffled shout,
I was tyin' my shoes when the base fell out;
The pin was gone, then three, then four,
And then there was nothing but me and the door!

I dove head low, someone's boot in my mouth;
The prop blast hit as I flew out;
Tumbling plane overhead, falling bodies below,
Stable at last, but a long way to go.

I tracked so hard that I couldn't stop,
My breath was gone and my eyeballs popped!
Drilled a hole in a cloud and started to flare,
And when I came out the star was there.

I got a good grip and the star was round;
One eye on the needle and one on the ground
We started to break when we heard a yell
And across from me was a face from hell!

Trailing red smoke from an M-18
A phantom tenth man appeared on the scene!
We wanted to break but found we could not.
Our grips froze tight when he hit the slot!

I'll swear to this day it was Flying Fred,
He had surplus gear and his eyes were red!
With a laugh you could hear and a wave of his hand
He broke off the star just over a grand!

Nobody waved and nobody tracked,
The trees got so big we just unpacked!
Reserves went by! Out flashed my own!
But that red smoke flew towards the ground.

Out by the peas was the Federal Man
Timing low pulls with a watch in his hands.
Came the lowest pull of all that day
Because Phantom Fred was heading his way.

With a grinning laugh and a blast of wind
In a cloud of smoke Fred brought it on in!
Lightning flashed and thunder rolled!
When the smoke cleared away, there was just a hole.

White reserves started landing there,
The Beech was down in a field somewhere
The FAA didn't like all this;
The man staggered off to file a near miss.

We all looked at the hole; then we all shook hands.
It was legal now, our first ten-man.
Where Fred had gone we couldn't say
But our witness was the FAA.

That night over a beer we thought of a way
To salute Flying Fred's Memorial Day.
Where that smoke bomb hit, now a marker stands,
It says, "Boys, I was with you on your first ten-man!"

"Jump Bummin' Around"

by Mule Ferguson

To the tune of "Just Bummin' Around"


Got a ole P.C.
Got my rig on my shoulder.
Got nothing to lose when I hit the blues,
jump bummin' around.

(Chorus:)
Whenever people start buggin' me,
I grab my rig, my Bell X-5,
and head for the ole DZ.
I ain't got a dime.
Just spend it on jumpin'.
I'm free as a breeze, and I do what I please,
jump bummin' around.

Well, I've jumped in DeLand,
Stone Mountain and Lakewood,
Elsinore, and The Inn.
I've made lots of friends,
jump bummin' around.

(Chorus)

Got a million friends,
All over the country.
Sometimes I get a DZ.
Sometimes I land in a tree.
Jump bummin' Around.

(Chorus)

Ghost Jumper in the Sky

by Rigger Mortis to

the tune of "Ghost Riders in the Sky"


An old Skydiver went flying out one dark and windy day
Upon the strut he waited as he flew along his way.
When over top the exit point he pushed off hard and strong.
And as he plunged on through the sky, he sang this happy song.
Yippee-I-Oh, look out below.
Skydiver on a delay.
Five thousand feet on down he fell his arms and legs outspread.
His back was arched and as he fell the wind roared past his head.
When at two thousand feet he frogged and came in for the string.
He groped along the harness fast and then began to sing.
Yippee-I-Oh Where did it go?
My ripcord can't be found.
On down he fell the Earth grew large. His time was running out.
He came in fast for his reserve and gave a dismal shout.
The Sunday papers fluttered by and through his fevered brain
Ran the awful certainty his hopes were down the drain.
Yippee-I-Yah, at least let them say,
Stable all the way.
Now when the days are dark and cold, the sky is black with clouds.
You'll see that lonely jumper fall struggling with his shrouds.
He falls through space eternally to make this message clear.
No matter how stable you are, your life hangs with your gear.
Yippee-I-Oh, when he says go,
Think of the gear you wear.

The Student Jumpers Psalm


The jumpmaster is my shepherd
I shall not want
He maketh me to step out on the tire,
He leadeth my hand to the wing strut
He quieteth my panic;
He leadeth me in the joys of jumping for his name's sake.
Yea, though I jump into the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no malfunction;
For thou art with me,
Thy faith in my reserve -
It comforteth me.

Thou preparest a back pack before me
In the presence of my fellow students;
Thou covereth my head with plastic;
My knees knocketh together.
Surely fortune and kindness shall follow me
Every second of my delay,
And I will dwell in the harness of the chute forever.

"Feelin' Stupid!"

by Duncan Mc Ewan

To the tune of "Feelin' Groovy."


Slow down, and let the dive last.
You don't need to get in that fast.
Or else, next thing you know,
you've gone below, and you're...

Feelin' Stupid!
Da, da, da, da, da, da, da
Feelin' stupid.

Hello lamp post, you're where I'm goin'
'Cause these damn ground winds keep a-blowin'
And since I spotted for this load,
I'm off the airport, and...

Feelin' Stupid!
Da, da, da, da, da, da, da
Feelin' stupid.

Hello ground, into which I burn.
'Cause I made too low a hook turn.
The ambulance gave me a new cast,
Now I can't jump, 'cause I

was Stupid!
Da, da, da, da, da, da, da
I was stupid.

I got no jumps to do, no loads to make.
I'm injured, and laid up, and grounded this week.
Let them all go and jump there without me this week.
All because, I

was so stupid.
Da, da, da, da, da, da, da
I was stupid!

Blood on the Risers

Military Version

Sung to the tune of "Glory, Glory"

"Is everybody happy?" cried the Sergeant, looking up.
Our hero feebly answered "yes" and then they stood him up.
He leaped right out into the blast, his static line unhooked.
He ain't gonna jump no more.
Chorus:

Gory, Gory, what a helluva way to die,
Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die
Gory, gory what a helluva way to die
He ain't going to jump no more.

He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock
He felt the wind, he felt the clouds, he felt the awful drop;
He jerked his cord, the silk spilled out and wrapped around his legs.
He ain't gonna jump no more.
Chorus (above)

The risers wrapped around his neck, connectors cracked his dome
The lines were snarled and tied in knots around his skinny bones
The canopy became his shroud, he hurtled to the ground
He ain't gonna jump no more.

Chorus (above)

The days he'd lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind
He thought about the girl below, the one he'd left behind
He thought about the medico's and wondered what they'd find
He ain't gonna jump no more.

Chorus (above)

The ambulance was on the spot, the jeeps were running wild;
The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they rolled their sleeves and smiled
For it had been a week or more since last a chute had failed
He ain't gonna jump no more.

Chorus (above)

He hit the ground,the sound was splat, his blood went spurting high;
His comrades then were heard to say "A helluva way to die";
He lay there rolling 'round in the welter of his gore.
He ain't gonna jump no more.

Chorus (above)

"There was blood upon the risers
There were brains upon the chute
Intestines were a dangling from this paratrooper's boots.
They picked him up, still in his chute, and poured him from his boots.
He ain't gonna jump no more!"

Chorus (above)

"Don't Worry...Be Happy"

by Duncan Mc Ewan

To the tune of the same name.


In incident reports it wrote,
But when you read it, just take note, but...

Don't worry...Be happy!

If your main should have some trouble,
If you panic, you just make it double.

Don't worry...Be happy!

(Speak) Don't worry, be happy now!
(Speak) Don't worry...Be happy!
(Speak) Don't worry...Be happy!
(Speak) Don't worry...Be happy!
(Speak) Don't worry, be happy!

Ain't got nothin' above your head,
that doesn't mean you will end up dead, So...

Don't worry... Be Happy!

A 'functioned main is not too late,
So when you think it's sealed your fate...

Don't worry...Be happy!

(Speak) Look at me, I'm happy!

(Speak) Don't worry, be happy.

(Speak) Ain't got nothin' above your head
to make you happy?
Pull your reserve, it make you happy.
(Speak) Don't worry, be happy.

A snivelly op'nin' not your style,
End cell closures don't make you smile...

Don't worry...Be happy!

'Cause while you worry, you zoom right down,
And very soon you will hit the ground, so...

Don't Worry...Be Happy!

(Speak) Don't worry, be happy now!

(Speak) Don't worry...Be happy!
(Speak) Don't worry...Be happy!

Don't worry...Be happy!

(Speak) Don't worry, don't worry, don't worry...be
happy.

(Speak) Pull your reserve, don't let yourself hit the
ground.

(Speak) Don't worry.

(Speak) You can cut it away, whatever it is.

(Speak) Don't worry, be happy.

(FADE, END)

Anyone know the words to the chant that Johnny Gates uses on the climb to altitude for the MB loads.
Heard it but can't remember it. It definately has a military slant to it

LMAO MB65 has some good stories about the reactions from different pilots.

R.I.P.

Don't know...
Can you hum a few bars?!


****************************************


O Lord

O Lord, won't you buy me a brand new P.D.
All my friends have one, so why not me?
And give me a slicksuit, so I can fall free,
O Lord, won't you give me a brand new P.D.

O Lord, won't you buy me a brand new big plane,
And some good weather, no wind and no rain,
I can't really jump from a car or a train.
O Lord, won't you buy me a brand new big plane,

O Lord, help me dirt-dive a forty-way cat
Then into a diamond, or something like that.
A stairstep to a snowflake, and then turn and track
O Lord, help me dirt-dive a forty-way cat.

O Lord, give me money to jump all the time
I think five a day, every day, would be fine.
I'm so broke I've turned to a new life of crime,
O Lord, give me money to jump all the time.

All-Girl Loads 1979
(original melody)

We're coming, we're coming, our Crack Choir band
On the fun side of jumping, we do take our stand.
We don't chew tobacco because we do think,
That chewing tobacco will grow you a dink.

(chorus)
Hooray, hooray, for all-girl loads,
All-girl loads, all-girl loads,
Hooray, hooray, for all-girl loads,
Cuz they put the fun back in jumping.

We don't wear tight jumpsuits because we know that
A skinny suit will only accent our fat.
And can you imagine a sorrier sight
Than a skinny suit molding to our cellulite?

(chorus)

We never do dirt dives because we surmise
That dirt dives will only detract from surprise.
And how could a dirt dive improve our great skill
When eleven maneuvers are the run-of-the-mill.

(chorus)

By the Book

by Frank Schoch



This is the tale of a daring young lad
Who kept hearing reports of a brand new fad.
Skydiving was the handle they gave this new game -
A sure way to glory, perhaps even fame.
He rushed to the bookstore and there on the shelf,
A magazine glared, "Skydiving, How to do it yourself"
He paid for the book and away he went,
To the nearest airport, his footsteps hell-bent.
He arrived at the field and told one and all
I am here to make a one minute free fall.
He put on a chute and climbed into a 182
And he and the pilot went into the blue.
He opened the book and proceeded to read,
Of proper spotting, its importance, its need.
The book also told how to stand on the plane's landing gear
See how easy!! There's nothing to fear.
He kicked off the wheel and on his back he spun.
The book said 'twas wrong even though it was fun.
The book said, arch hard and over you'll fly
To look at the ground and not at the sky
So he tried it with gusto and lo and behold
In a second it happened -- over he rolled
He thought with wild glee, aint't this a scene?
I'm doing tricks like a flying machine.
The book then said "Let's try a turn to the right
Bring your right arm in, but not too tight
Now counter a little, you're showing great style.
A glance at your panel shows you've fallen a mile."
Our hero thought, this book's the McCoy
Nothing I've done has provided such joy.
I'm flying around with the greatest of ease
Doing turns and backloops whenever I please.
He read further on to continue his lesson
He knew he was nearing the end of this session
On the next page were the words, unhappily written
"Continue instruction in next month's edition".

"60 Plus Delay"

by Bob Hartman

To the tune of "Wabash Cannonball".


He jumped out at thirteen-five
for a 60 plus delay.
He had no way of knowing
it was his fateful day.
He did a left 360,
and then he did a right.
Burned on through his series,
really racked it tight.

Then he did a barrel roll,
and broke into a track.
But when he pulled he pulled that ripcord,
he was flat upon his back.
His pilot chute did not come out.
His main would not deploy.
For he had not remembered
what he learned as a boy.

The packing pins were in the cones.
What a terrible mistake he'd made.
He should have packed his parachute
before "Cardinal Puff" was played.
He looked at his altimeter.
His teeth began to chatter.
He'd have to throw out his reserve,
or upon the ground he'll splatter.

He pulled that ripcord handle,
and much to his surprise,
out popped his girlfriend's living bra,
right before his eyes.
Twin canopies inflated,
much to his delight.
He knew that he'd be able,
to play "Cardinal Puff" tonight.

"My Last Jump"

Anonymous

To the tune of "Beautiful Dreamer".
[This is the classic]

Please help me I'm falling.
I'm out of control.
Left the plane at 10,000,
and started to roll.

I tried to get stable,
by arching my back.
I arched so hard,
I passed my back pack.

Oh I clawed at the ripcord,
blind as a bat.
Got a hold of the harness,
Started jerking on that.

Then I grabbed for my chest pack,
with my left hand.
please help I'm falling
into the sand.

I just passed 200,
hurtling down.
The ants look like people,
here comes the ground.

I hollered "take pictures"
as I augured in.
There's no more fallin'
for this is the end.

"High Fright"

A Poem parody by Duncan Mc Ewan, C-19645
(C) 1994.

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
and danced the skies with nylon sleeves for wings.

Earthward I've plummeted,
and joined the tumbling mirth of first jump students;
and done a hundred things, you would not be caught dead.
Spins, and loops, and tracked, high in the sunlit silence.

Spotting there, I've chased the relative winds along,
and flung my eager bod' through footless halls of air.

Down, down from the long, delirious, burning blue,
I've punched the windswept clouds with easy grace,
where never lark, nor even eagle flew.

And, with silent, lifting canopy, I've trod,
the high untresspassed sanctity of space;
reached out my hand,
and gripped the sleeve of God.

Falling

(1980)

(to the tune of my Bonnie Lies over the Ocean)

I started a course parachutin'
A skygod I wanted to be,
Who cares for the theories of Newton,
When you're in the air falling free.

Falling, falling, the ants look like people to me, to me
Falling falling, the ants look like people to me.

I did my first jump on a dope-rope
And shut my eyes all the way down,
And just when I'd given up all hope,
The chute took me safe to the ground.

Chorus

They said I was ready for freefall
I'd pull the damn ripcord or bust,
I exited slightly unstable
And in Kevlar lines I was trussed.

Chorus

And now that I've got my A license
The skies are wide open for me,
With luck, common sense and good judgement
A skygoddess one day I'll be!

"Francine Mc Filthy"

by Little David

To the tune of "Streets of Larado"

There was a young maiden of age fifty-seven.
Who drove a blank gore like you've never seen before.
She drank and she cussed, and she smelled to high heaven.
That's Francine Mc Filthy, the skydiver's whore.

We went to a jump meet in Carson, Nevada.
The troops were all lined up at the Moonlight Ranch door.
But out in the bushes, one went for a quarter.
That's Francine Mc Filthy, the skydiver's whore.

Old Francine the queen of barnstorming banditos.
Would punch out S.O.S. 'till her knuckles were sore.
She'd make Pope and Bishop, in seventeen seconds,
Then take on nine jumpers, that's skydivers whore.

Way back in the old barnstorming days, I flew an old jenny.
The struts were all broken, the fabric was tore.
And out on the jumpstep, stood Francine Mc Filthy.
The pride of Milpitas, that skydiver's whore.

Francine was married to old Ernie Perkins;
The wedding took place in the back of a store;
The troops was all drinkin' and fightin' and yellin',
And Ernie got cursed wid' a skydiving whore.

Old Francine looked lovely, she smiled at the preacher.
I pioneer, jumpsuit, the gown that she wore.
Behind her sweet back, she gave us the finger.
That raunchy old bastard, that skydiver's whore.

The marriage was short lived, and so was old Ernie.
He crashed through a church roof, and died on the floor.
Francine missed the funeral, for a night jump at Chico.
So what's more important to a skydiving whore.

Then one day it happened, her navy rig failed her.
She tracked for Lake Merrit, but just made the shore.
She closed bloodshot eyes, and smiled through her A.H...
And that was the end of our skydiving whore.

So hang your head low boys and cry in your muscat.
The pride of Milpitas is with us no more.
And the noise that your hear at twelve-five is not thunder.
But the voice of old Francine, our skydiving whore.

And now somewhere on that eternal drop zone.
Stands one who hollers and beats on the door.
Won't you break down and hand out a drink there St. Peter.
To Francine Mc Filthy, the skydiver's whore.

"Don't Worry About the Airplane"

By Russ Gunby.

To the tune of "Wabash Cannonball"


One day while at the airport.
With nothing to do.
I saw a man come falling,
streaming down from out of the blue.
I knew this man was surely dead.
i stood there frozen mute.
'Till heard the snap and the crack,
of his openin' parachute.

(Chorus:)
Don't worry about the airplane.
You're leavin' it behind.
Don't worry about the altitude,
it's up there all the time.
Don't worry about your parachute,
it'll always stop tour fall.
But if your slow, you're headed low,
to a smashing, crashing fall.

His canopy was black and gold;
great holes were showing through.
He glided north, he glided south,
he turned and stalled it too.
He landed at the target,
stood up so easily.
I asked him hoe he did it,
and this is what he said to me...

(Chorus)

When your hear the engines fading,
and dive out through the door,
and your speed builds up to terminal,
and you hear the wind's loud roar,
then you're flying free, and life's carefree,
'till the earth comes rushing fast.
Don't wait too long, 'till the ripcords gone,
or this jump will be your last.

(Chorus)

When you're reaching for your ripcord,
you know your time is running out.
You're headed down to eighteen hundred,
and your burble's not shook out.
Horizon's gone, you start to roll.
You spiral and zap out.
Unless you sprout some feathers, boy,
you better whip it out.

(Chorus)

Now all you men who drink a lot,
have not a thing to fear.
You jump on Sunday mornin'
full of whiskey, gin, and beer.
Pull out the chocks, load up the plane,
let's hear that Nordsmen's call.
And ride to the graveyard drop zone,
in a smashing, crashing, fall.

(New chorus:)
New worry about the airport,
you're leavin' it behind.
Don't worry about the lousy spot,
you can't track back in time.
Looking for the ripcords,
you can't find them at all.
The lake, the dump, the power lines;
one will stop our fall.

"Ode to Diablo Skydivers"

by Little David

A Poem



Cartridge shell beside the freeway,
How came you there of little shell?
Could it be Diablo's finest
Passed this way to raise some hell?

Broken, bullet riddled stop signs,
Tell a tale of carefree drinking.
Could it be Diablo's finest
Passed this way to raise some hell?

Sparkling beer cans dot the roadside.
Reflected in them, star that shine.
Could it be Diablo's finest
Might have switched from beer to wine?

Forest fire beside the freeway,
Smell of smoke profanes the air,
Could it be Diablo's finest
May have lost a day night flare?

"Jumping down to Victory"

To the tune of "Song of Burgundy".


We are the men in chutes,
tough men in jumping boots,
jumping down to victory.

We are the paratroops!
hard hitting parachuters,
jumping down to victory.

Stand up, hook up:
Hit the door and go!
Downward, earthward,
our silken banners flow.

Lift your heads
and shout it-
There's no doubt about it;
jumping down to victory.

GERONIMO!

"Norseeman"

by Linda Moore

To the tune of "Freight Train"


Norseman, Norseman, dronin' so loud.
Noreseman, flying up over the clouds.
Please don't tell them what flight I'm on,
so they wont know, 'till I'm down.

Norseman, Norseman, comin' round the bend.
Norseman, Norseman, circle again.
One of these days, fly that plane straight on
away from my home town.

Just one place I'd like to be.
Only one place in this world for me.
In the door of a Nordsman plane,
getting ready to jump again.

When I die don't bury me deep.
Bury me under runway concrete.
So I can hear ole seven-nine-five,
as she heads for the sky

"Orange Prayer"

by Hank Mc Carrick

To the tune of "Waltzing Matilda"


First time at orange, get a welcome hand from Lew.
Meet all the rest of his jolly good crew.
Then just dress up, and chute up,
and climb into the jumping ship.
If you are a jumper, then we'll pray for you.

(Chorus:)
Rib busting chest straps, ball busting leg straps.
Leg busting landings may break up a few.
But if God ain't a God, and Heaven ain't a place at all.
Just worship jumping and we'll pray for you.

Up climb the jump ship, working for some altitude.
Out goes the door when the DZ's in view.
Then a hard right, a hard left, a couple dozen changes more.
Terry-Oh's spotting, so we'll pray for you.

(Chorus)

Out went Goyen waiting for a falling man.
Third out was Gorgie, his chute full of dew.
His main didn't open, his second did, but kinda low.
If you're like Georgie, then we'll pray for you.

(Chorus)

Back on the DZ, tummy says "it's dinner time".
Head for the chow house and 'Norsemen Stew'.
Just don't ask how it's made, anything that moves may be inside.
Neva's the cook, so we'll pray for you.

(Chorus)

If you're a novice, training isn't very long.
Start in at one, and by four you're through.
So you watch, and you listen, practice.

"St. James Infirmary"

by Terry-Oh

To the tune of the same name.

I went down to St. James Infirmary,
to see my baby there.
She was stretched out on a big white table.
So cool, so sweet, so fair.

I went up to see the doctor.
She's might low he said.
I went back to see my baby,
My God, she's lying there dead!

It was on one Sunday morning.
Not many miles from here.
The winds were softy blowing,
And the weather was so clear.

She went up to make a sixty.
A sixty plus delay.
And now you'll hear my singing.
About my baby's cut-a-way.

I went to old Tom's barroom.
On the corner by the square.
They were serving drinks as usual.
And all of the jumpers were there.

On my left, stood old Joe MacKennedy.
And his eyes were bloodshot red.
He turned to the crowed gathered round him.
And these were the words he said...

"Let her go, let her go, God bless her."
"Wherever she may be."
"We cannot forget her double malfunction.
And you'll never find a sadder man than me.

When I die please bury me.
In a towering white summer thundercloud.
Let me wear a black Pioneer jumpsuit.
Let my faithful P.C. be my shroud.

Now this is the end of my story.
Let's have another round of booze.
And if anyone should ask, you just tell them,
I've got the St. James infirmary blues.

"Take Me Out to the Drop Zone"

by Little David

To the tune of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game"



Take Me Out to the Drop Zone
I'll be damned if I jump.
Bring me some bandages and iodine.
A case of beer and a bottle of wine.
For it's "play it cool" at the drop zone.
Were we'll be safe and sound.
And watch all those heros jump out of the plane,
and cream in...to...the ground.

Taunton Men

by Hank Mc Carrick

To the tune of The Green Beret.


Greasy Guineas from the sky.
Irish drunks on whiskey high.
Portuguese who bitch and pay.
Taunton men, with no beret.

Sloppy Limeys at their best.
Silly Frenchmen like the rest.
Horny Greeks who've gone astray.
Taunton men, with no beret.

Some are red men, some are white.
Same just can't be seen at night.
Drunken bums that never pay.
Taunton men, with no beret.

Jumping gear upon their chest.
Climbing high, with bowels unrest.
Smelly cockpits. every day.
Taunton men, with no beret.

Trained on drink, and sleepless nights.
Men who think, all is wrong is right.
Jumping bums, who'll never sway.
Taunton men, with no beret.

Wives and sweethearts have to wait.
Jumping guys, are always late.
Bless them all, we love their way.
Taunton men, with no beret.