Traditional Squadron Songs
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Sea King advisory, I hate to say, is a little after my time, grey haired old fellow that I am. But here are a couple that would still be useful on the current flat tops:
Unnamed (Tune: Pick a bale of cotton)
You gotta shut down turnaround get the cab away again
Shut down turnaround take a suck of fuel
Shut down turnaround get the bastard off again
Shut down turnaround take a suck of fuel
Ops can’t brief us - work too hard
Telebriefs f**ked so we’ll brief on Guard
Chorus
“Man up the Sea Kings” - can’t mean me
I’ve got a coffe waiting in the ACRB
Chorus
Flyco’s screaming “Expedite”
Can’t crack me Wings, I don’t give a *****
Chorus
Checks on start up take all night
We’ll do the start if you do the flight
Chorus
Sitting here cursing - AL10
Just so the Jungly can fly again
Unnamed (tune; I did it my way)
And now, the end is near, we’re all shagged out, the cabs are broken
Ditch gash, the Flight Deck’s clear, the war is won, the bar is open
The submarine’s gone home, I must admit we’ve all had plenty
Oh, Bliss, they’ve stood us down - AL 20
Unnamed (Tune: Pick a bale of cotton)
You gotta shut down turnaround get the cab away again
Shut down turnaround take a suck of fuel
Shut down turnaround get the bastard off again
Shut down turnaround take a suck of fuel
Ops can’t brief us - work too hard
Telebriefs f**ked so we’ll brief on Guard
Chorus
“Man up the Sea Kings” - can’t mean me
I’ve got a coffe waiting in the ACRB
Chorus
Flyco’s screaming “Expedite”
Can’t crack me Wings, I don’t give a *****
Chorus
Checks on start up take all night
We’ll do the start if you do the flight
Chorus
Sitting here cursing - AL10
Just so the Jungly can fly again
Unnamed (tune; I did it my way)
And now, the end is near, we’re all shagged out, the cabs are broken
Ditch gash, the Flight Deck’s clear, the war is won, the bar is open
The submarine’s gone home, I must admit we’ve all had plenty
Oh, Bliss, they’ve stood us down - AL 20
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Another offering from 814 during Hermes' days. As a survivor of 824 with two weeks of Ripple 3 in 100 yards vis, typical North Sea, we had other opinions of 814, but mostly unprintable 
The Rhyme of the Ancient Aviator
I was stood at the bar of a far off land
When on my sleeve I felt a hand
And I turned to see about five foot
Of wizzened wreck in a Pusser’s suit
I glanced at his sleeve and I thought I could just
Make out through the grime and the sh*t and the dust
A pair of pilot’s wings of gold
On this walking corpse. My blood ran cold
So I bought him a drink, a pint of the best
And he started to talk like a man possessed
He talked of the sea, of the ships, of the sky,
And that untamed passion, to fly, to fly!
Then he sobbed, “It was the booze, you see,
That took it all away from me.
But a story I will now relate
Of an exercise called Open Gate
When 814, they came out tops
Against Orange subs, and Hermes Ops.
They came in droves in the afternoon
To number one, our briefing room
With handouts, vu graphs by the score
My God, but Ops knew how to bore
And it seems the whole damned ship was there
To hear the Word, and sit, and stare
At those who paced the floor out front
Each trying hard to act the wheel
And give his views on how to hack it.
I, for one, just could not crack it.
Capitulating with a snore
I tumbled senseless to the floor
(Where I lay untouched for an hour, you see,
The rest had done the same as me)
At last, when consciousness drew near
I thought “Oh sh*t! What’s that I hear?”
As SOBS stood up with a steely stare
And said “Up top for a breath of air
Then straight back here to make a start
On Open Gate brief - second part”
Then Aircrew vanished to their pits
But most, they say, jumped off the ship.
And the crowd that returned, I still can see,
The C.O., Splot, Sobs, Wings and me.
(And a looker, naked, straight from bed
Who’d got lost en route from 5U head).
Next morning to our great dismay
The Opgen Foxtrot had gone astray
Wings said to me “It’s up to you
To figure out what we’re to do.”
I said “Nae probs, leave it to me,
We’ve still got six crews - Ripple Three”
The rest is history I’ll be bound
We pinged (three times) the clock around
We’d find a sub, we’d sink it, then
We’d sink the bastard one again,
Then once more for luck, it never ended
Until six warloads were expended.
We flew and slept and slept and flew,
We drank no beer - well, one or two,
But a pace like that just could not last
And soon, thank Allah, it was past.
Now I look back from my rocking chair
And tell my grandkids “I was there
At the exercise called Open Gate
Held in the spring of ‘78.
And when my time on earth is done
And the big Ops One calls for his son,
I’ll go to Hell, I’ll tell you why,
‘Cos things down there don’t bloody fly!
The Rhyme of the Ancient Aviator
I was stood at the bar of a far off land
When on my sleeve I felt a hand
And I turned to see about five foot
Of wizzened wreck in a Pusser’s suit
I glanced at his sleeve and I thought I could just
Make out through the grime and the sh*t and the dust
A pair of pilot’s wings of gold
On this walking corpse. My blood ran cold
So I bought him a drink, a pint of the best
And he started to talk like a man possessed
He talked of the sea, of the ships, of the sky,
And that untamed passion, to fly, to fly!
Then he sobbed, “It was the booze, you see,
That took it all away from me.
But a story I will now relate
Of an exercise called Open Gate
When 814, they came out tops
Against Orange subs, and Hermes Ops.
They came in droves in the afternoon
To number one, our briefing room
With handouts, vu graphs by the score
My God, but Ops knew how to bore
And it seems the whole damned ship was there
To hear the Word, and sit, and stare
At those who paced the floor out front
Each trying hard to act the wheel
And give his views on how to hack it.
I, for one, just could not crack it.
Capitulating with a snore
I tumbled senseless to the floor
(Where I lay untouched for an hour, you see,
The rest had done the same as me)
At last, when consciousness drew near
I thought “Oh sh*t! What’s that I hear?”
As SOBS stood up with a steely stare
And said “Up top for a breath of air
Then straight back here to make a start
On Open Gate brief - second part”
Then Aircrew vanished to their pits
But most, they say, jumped off the ship.
And the crowd that returned, I still can see,
The C.O., Splot, Sobs, Wings and me.
(And a looker, naked, straight from bed
Who’d got lost en route from 5U head).
Next morning to our great dismay
The Opgen Foxtrot had gone astray
Wings said to me “It’s up to you
To figure out what we’re to do.”
I said “Nae probs, leave it to me,
We’ve still got six crews - Ripple Three”
The rest is history I’ll be bound
We pinged (three times) the clock around
We’d find a sub, we’d sink it, then
We’d sink the bastard one again,
Then once more for luck, it never ended
Until six warloads were expended.
We flew and slept and slept and flew,
We drank no beer - well, one or two,
But a pace like that just could not last
And soon, thank Allah, it was past.
Now I look back from my rocking chair
And tell my grandkids “I was there
At the exercise called Open Gate
Held in the spring of ‘78.
And when my time on earth is done
And the big Ops One calls for his son,
I’ll go to Hell, I’ll tell you why,
‘Cos things down there don’t bloody fly!
Guest
Posts: n/a
Oggin and John E,
Once more I am humbled in the presence of FAA song gurus. Once I manage to recover my old and battered copy of the songbook from the B#%$&^@ that 'borrowed' it, I'll try to contribute something to this thread!
just remember, PWOs are the real enemy....
Once more I am humbled in the presence of FAA song gurus. Once I manage to recover my old and battered copy of the songbook from the B#%$&^@ that 'borrowed' it, I'll try to contribute something to this thread!
just remember, PWOs are the real enemy....
Guest
Posts: n/a
An April '82 co-ordinated effort between 826 & 820 (Almost unheard of!!) in the Dolphin Arms, Portsmouth a day or so before sailing...
(Tune: Don't cry for me Argentina)
You don't frighten me Argentina
The truth is we will defeat you
We'll sink your carrier ...
...with our Sea Harrier
And with our Sea Kings ....
...Subs will be sinking
On your bike Argentina
The front line are getting airborne
You've gon to far now...
...we've left the bar now
And soon the Falklands...
...will be in our hands
Four and a half thpousand Booties
Will soon take back Port Stanley
You might try to hold out..
...but we will throw out
To Buenos Aires...
...you Bl*&% faries.
(Tune: Don't cry for me Argentina)
You don't frighten me Argentina
The truth is we will defeat you
We'll sink your carrier ...
...with our Sea Harrier
And with our Sea Kings ....
...Subs will be sinking
On your bike Argentina
The front line are getting airborne
You've gon to far now...
...we've left the bar now
And soon the Falklands...
...will be in our hands
Four and a half thpousand Booties
Will soon take back Port Stanley
You might try to hold out..
...but we will throw out
To Buenos Aires...
...you Bl*&% faries.
Guest
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The A25 song has been mentioned... here's a few verses, lots more in the FAA Song book I think
The A25 Song
They say in the airforce a landings okay
If the pilot gets put and can still walk away
But in the Fleet Air Arm the prospects are grim
If the landings piss poor and the pilot can’t swim
CHORUS-
Cracking show, I'm alive,
But I still have to render my A25
They taught me to fly in an old Tiger Moth
A dreadful contraption of wood string and cloth
It does sixty knots or something fantastic
A bloody good show for some string and elastic
CHORUS
When you come o’er the round down and see Wings frown
You can safely assume that your hook isn’t down
A bloody great barrier looms up ahead
Then a pipe on the broadcast 'let’s pray for the dead'
CHORUS
They gave me a Seafire to beat up the fleet
I beat up the Rodney and Nelson a treat
Forgot the tall mast on top of the Formid
And a seat in the goofers was worth fifty quid
CHORUS
When the batsman says lower I always go higher
I turn to starboard and prang my Seafire
The boys in the goofers all think I am green
But I get my commission from Supermarine
CHORUS
I sit on the booster awaiting the kick
Amusing myself by abusing my pr%@k
There goes the green light the thing gives a cough
Cor blimey says Wings he has tossed himself off
CHORUS
I fly for a living I don’t fly for fun
I’m awfully anxious to hack dawn the Hun
But when it comes to deck landings at night in the dark
As I told Wings this morning, F#%k that for a lark
CHORUS
As I roar down the deck in my Martlet Mk4
Loud in my ears is the Cyclones sweet roar
Chuff clink clink chuff clink clink chuff clink clink clink
Away wing on sponson away life in drink
CHORUS
I thought I was coming in low enough but
I was 50 feet high when the batsman gave cut
Loud in my earholes the sweet angels sang
Float float float float float float barrier prang
CHORUS
The latest editions the bold Buccaneer
Filled up with black boxes and Scimitar gear
But never mind Kruschev you're safe till the days
When the fu$%&#g great ba$#&%d is fitted with speys
CHORUS
Now if you fly Vixens you’ve got to be quick
Cos it climbs very fast when you pull on the stick
‘Oh Christ’ said a pilot as heaven drew near
‘Pray what do you want’ said a voice in his ear
CHORUS
The Phantom is highest and fastest and last
For the time is now come when we sing of the past
For Wilson and Healey have won in the end
And there’ll be no flat tops for us to defend
CHORUS
At pinging the Sea King is remarkably sound
It’s wings don’t go out they go round and around
Backwards and forwards and sideways they go
And they don’t give a f$#k if there balls hanging low
CHORUS
They taught me to fly in a Chipmunk T10
I`d fly round and round and then once round again
The mood of the bird made the landing a farce
So I'd go round again and fly straight up my arse
CHORUS
From fixed wing to choppers I quickly moved on
To find it quite safe with no airspeed clocked on
But if your descent is too fast for the flow
Then it's chop chop chop chop and away you will go
CHORUS
And so front line service I finally saw
The pilots were good and I viewed them with awe
But found out the maths were just too much for me
And ‘F%$k it’said Wings some more stores in the sea
CHORUS
I led a formation in LFA2
And lower and lower and lower we flew
Forgot all the wires and the tips of the trees
And a pipe back at base, ‘Let us pray for all three’
CHORUS
There's a bloke an our ship now that everyone knows
Where he gets his rings from Christ only knows
He stands up in Flyco and he rants and shouts
And gobs off about things he knows f%$k all about
CHORUS
They say in the Air Force a missions OK
If you drop all your bombs and can still fly away
But in the Fleet Air Arm they call you a s$#%
If you drop 21 and get only 1 hit
CHORUS
The moral of this story is quite plain to see
A Fleet Air Arm pilot you never should be
But stay on the shore and get two rings or more
And go out on the piss every night with a whore
The A25 Song
They say in the airforce a landings okay
If the pilot gets put and can still walk away
But in the Fleet Air Arm the prospects are grim
If the landings piss poor and the pilot can’t swim
CHORUS-
Cracking show, I'm alive,
But I still have to render my A25
They taught me to fly in an old Tiger Moth
A dreadful contraption of wood string and cloth
It does sixty knots or something fantastic
A bloody good show for some string and elastic
CHORUS
When you come o’er the round down and see Wings frown
You can safely assume that your hook isn’t down
A bloody great barrier looms up ahead
Then a pipe on the broadcast 'let’s pray for the dead'
CHORUS
They gave me a Seafire to beat up the fleet
I beat up the Rodney and Nelson a treat
Forgot the tall mast on top of the Formid
And a seat in the goofers was worth fifty quid
CHORUS
When the batsman says lower I always go higher
I turn to starboard and prang my Seafire
The boys in the goofers all think I am green
But I get my commission from Supermarine
CHORUS
I sit on the booster awaiting the kick
Amusing myself by abusing my pr%@k
There goes the green light the thing gives a cough
Cor blimey says Wings he has tossed himself off
CHORUS
I fly for a living I don’t fly for fun
I’m awfully anxious to hack dawn the Hun
But when it comes to deck landings at night in the dark
As I told Wings this morning, F#%k that for a lark
CHORUS
As I roar down the deck in my Martlet Mk4
Loud in my ears is the Cyclones sweet roar
Chuff clink clink chuff clink clink chuff clink clink clink
Away wing on sponson away life in drink
CHORUS
I thought I was coming in low enough but
I was 50 feet high when the batsman gave cut
Loud in my earholes the sweet angels sang
Float float float float float float barrier prang
CHORUS
The latest editions the bold Buccaneer
Filled up with black boxes and Scimitar gear
But never mind Kruschev you're safe till the days
When the fu$%&#g great ba$#&%d is fitted with speys
CHORUS
Now if you fly Vixens you’ve got to be quick
Cos it climbs very fast when you pull on the stick
‘Oh Christ’ said a pilot as heaven drew near
‘Pray what do you want’ said a voice in his ear
CHORUS
The Phantom is highest and fastest and last
For the time is now come when we sing of the past
For Wilson and Healey have won in the end
And there’ll be no flat tops for us to defend
CHORUS
At pinging the Sea King is remarkably sound
It’s wings don’t go out they go round and around
Backwards and forwards and sideways they go
And they don’t give a f$#k if there balls hanging low
CHORUS
They taught me to fly in a Chipmunk T10
I`d fly round and round and then once round again
The mood of the bird made the landing a farce
So I'd go round again and fly straight up my arse
CHORUS
From fixed wing to choppers I quickly moved on
To find it quite safe with no airspeed clocked on
But if your descent is too fast for the flow
Then it's chop chop chop chop and away you will go
CHORUS
And so front line service I finally saw
The pilots were good and I viewed them with awe
But found out the maths were just too much for me
And ‘F%$k it’said Wings some more stores in the sea
CHORUS
I led a formation in LFA2
And lower and lower and lower we flew
Forgot all the wires and the tips of the trees
And a pipe back at base, ‘Let us pray for all three’
CHORUS
There's a bloke an our ship now that everyone knows
Where he gets his rings from Christ only knows
He stands up in Flyco and he rants and shouts
And gobs off about things he knows f%$k all about
CHORUS
They say in the Air Force a missions OK
If you drop all your bombs and can still fly away
But in the Fleet Air Arm they call you a s$#%
If you drop 21 and get only 1 hit
CHORUS
The moral of this story is quite plain to see
A Fleet Air Arm pilot you never should be
But stay on the shore and get two rings or more
And go out on the piss every night with a whore
Guest
Posts: n/a
P2's lament(Tune: Wild Rover)
I've been a co-pilot for almost a year
And I've had my fill right up to here
This task book's a bastard, it seems such a sin
That you can't be a P2 till you fill the c*nt in
And it's no nay never
No nay never no more
Will I be a shag pilot
On bold 824
The book had a mere sixty blank entries in it
Splot said "Complete it". This won't take a minute
And down in five tango, behind a locked door
I'd sign them all off by a quarter to four
Chorus
And so I made P2 but oh what a shame
For P2 and co jo's exactly the same
You still get the ground runs and cop all the sh*t
While the rest of you bastards can rot in your pit
Chorus
But now I'm a P1 you'd think it was fine
But I still fly as P2 for half of the time
My Mum thinks I've made it but Oh what a farce
The Looker's the captain. What a pain in the Arse!
I've been a co-pilot for almost a year
And I've had my fill right up to here
This task book's a bastard, it seems such a sin
That you can't be a P2 till you fill the c*nt in
And it's no nay never
No nay never no more
Will I be a shag pilot
On bold 824
The book had a mere sixty blank entries in it
Splot said "Complete it". This won't take a minute
And down in five tango, behind a locked door
I'd sign them all off by a quarter to four
Chorus
And so I made P2 but oh what a shame
For P2 and co jo's exactly the same
You still get the ground runs and cop all the sh*t
While the rest of you bastards can rot in your pit
Chorus
But now I'm a P1 you'd think it was fine
But I still fly as P2 for half of the time
My Mum thinks I've made it but Oh what a farce
The Looker's the captain. What a pain in the Arse!
Guest
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824 second pilot's song
(Tune: Sweet violets)
I am an unrated co-pilot
I always sit here on the left
My mind is quite firmly in neutral
My thumb firmly stuck up my............
Chorus:
.....FRC's make good reading
Read them by day and by night
For if you don't know them by heart son,
You'll always end up in the.........
.........Sweet violets,
Sweeter than all the roses,
Covered all over from head to toe,
Covered all over in Sweet Violets.
The first pilot's mind is a mystery,
His flying is really a farce
I wish I could take his Green Rating
And shove the thing right up his........
Chorus
The lookers a flying disaster
His cock ups are really first class
At Didtacs and Vectacs and Casex
He's really a great feat of.........
Chorus
The crewman should be far more wary,
For his life is full of pit-falls
To wake him I cry LOWER THE BODY
But he sits there and dangles his.....
Chorus
(Tune: Sweet violets)
I am an unrated co-pilot
I always sit here on the left
My mind is quite firmly in neutral
My thumb firmly stuck up my............
Chorus:
.....FRC's make good reading
Read them by day and by night
For if you don't know them by heart son,
You'll always end up in the.........
.........Sweet violets,
Sweeter than all the roses,
Covered all over from head to toe,
Covered all over in Sweet Violets.
The first pilot's mind is a mystery,
His flying is really a farce
I wish I could take his Green Rating
And shove the thing right up his........
Chorus
The lookers a flying disaster
His cock ups are really first class
At Didtacs and Vectacs and Casex
He's really a great feat of.........
Chorus
The crewman should be far more wary,
For his life is full of pit-falls
To wake him I cry LOWER THE BODY
But he sits there and dangles his.....
Chorus
Guest
Posts: n/a
Letsbe Friends
(Tune: The farmer and the cowboy should be friends)
Chorus:
Oh, the aircrew and the fisheads should be friends,
Oh, the aircrew and the fisheads should be friends
Oh, the aircrew and the fisheads,
The rum rats and the p*ss heads
But there ain't no reason why they can't be friends
I'd like to say a word for the seamen
They suck their teeth and dip their bread in gravy,
How does your cable grow
Dirty bastards, we all know,
For Nelson said that arseholes rule the Navy.
Chorus
I'd like to say a word for the stokers
Don't criticise them for their lousy manners,
For stokers are no fools,
They've got such lovely tools,
And they sweat upon their nuts with King Dick spanners.
Chorus
I'd like to say a word for the greenies,
They spend their lives in air conditioned spaces
They think it's very camp
When they talk of ohm and amp
And put on all their mincing airs and graces.
Chorus
I'd like to say a word for the Stovies
They've sent their last six years in trepidation
In spouting lots of wazz
And talking through their ass
They really are the Queens of aviation!
Chorus
I'll leave the final word for 824
Our skin is soft, our hair is long and wavy
But when it comes down to the crunch
We're a well endowed bunch
We've got the biggest goddamned choppers in the Navy!
Oh, Flight Deck folks should be friends
Flight deck folks should all be chums
Flight deck folks should stick together
Never ever talk to the Fishead bums!!!
(Tune: The farmer and the cowboy should be friends)
Chorus:
Oh, the aircrew and the fisheads should be friends,
Oh, the aircrew and the fisheads should be friends
Oh, the aircrew and the fisheads,
The rum rats and the p*ss heads
But there ain't no reason why they can't be friends
I'd like to say a word for the seamen
They suck their teeth and dip their bread in gravy,
How does your cable grow
Dirty bastards, we all know,
For Nelson said that arseholes rule the Navy.
Chorus
I'd like to say a word for the stokers
Don't criticise them for their lousy manners,
For stokers are no fools,
They've got such lovely tools,
And they sweat upon their nuts with King Dick spanners.
Chorus
I'd like to say a word for the greenies,
They spend their lives in air conditioned spaces
They think it's very camp
When they talk of ohm and amp
And put on all their mincing airs and graces.
Chorus
I'd like to say a word for the Stovies
They've sent their last six years in trepidation
In spouting lots of wazz
And talking through their ass
They really are the Queens of aviation!
Chorus
I'll leave the final word for 824
Our skin is soft, our hair is long and wavy
But when it comes down to the crunch
We're a well endowed bunch
We've got the biggest goddamned choppers in the Navy!
Oh, Flight Deck folks should be friends
Flight deck folks should all be chums
Flight deck folks should stick together
Never ever talk to the Fishead bums!!!
Guest
Posts: n/a
Wasn't there an NI song that began:
My eyes have seen the glory of the rising of the sun
Sitting in my Wessex on the top of 851
- Something something something - and we haven't got a gun
When the fog came rolling in
Glory glory Camlough Mountain
Glory glory Camlough Mountain
Glory glory Camlough Mountain
When the fog came rolling in
Anyone finish it off?
PS Dunhovrin - know any Belize songs?
------------------
PCD
My eyes have seen the glory of the rising of the sun
Sitting in my Wessex on the top of 851
- Something something something - and we haven't got a gun
When the fog came rolling in
Glory glory Camlough Mountain
Glory glory Camlough Mountain
Glory glory Camlough Mountain
When the fog came rolling in
Anyone finish it off?
PS Dunhovrin - know any Belize songs?
------------------
PCD
Guest
Posts: n/a
sure can.
2. There were 15 of us sitting there, the night it seemed so long,
I should have stayed but had a go, I thought I'd get a gong.
All up weight, no bleeding fuel and then it all went wrong,
When the fog came rolling in
Chorus
3. The next time I'm on Bessbrook nights I'll pray for wind to blow.
Cloud on the deck with snow and sleet so I don't have to go.
If Buzzard gets insistent then I'll leave it to my CO,
When the fog came rolling in.
2. There were 15 of us sitting there, the night it seemed so long,
I should have stayed but had a go, I thought I'd get a gong.
All up weight, no bleeding fuel and then it all went wrong,
When the fog came rolling in
Chorus
3. The next time I'm on Bessbrook nights I'll pray for wind to blow.
Cloud on the deck with snow and sleet so I don't have to go.
If Buzzard gets insistent then I'll leave it to my CO,
When the fog came rolling in.
Guest
Posts: n/a
Here's a fast pointy song to redress the balance:
Hey look us over: (Canadian AF)
Hey look us over
we are the boys
we fly around in our supersonic toys
tax payer's money, who gives a ****
whatever the weather we'llkick the tyres light the fires, faster higher
If thers a war that needs to be won
we are the boys who will surely get things done
Cos we're the boys in green and gold and we will not live to be old
And we fight and die for you.
Top of the world non PC(Carpenters/Tuppy)
CHORUS:
I'm on the top of the world
Looking down on a Jag mate
And the only explanation I can find
Is he's blind or he's dum
With his willy up his bum
Oh I'm sitting on the top of the world
Best thing in the world for me would be
To be in behind a Jag calling fox 3
And the reason is clear
It's because they are queer
They're the closest thing to benders I have seen
Phantoms are the only things to fly
Theyre the screaming metal goddess of the sky
Flying high flying fast
Firing missiles up your arse
Its the closest thing to heaven I can find
Chorus
Down at the station:
Down at the station early in the morning
See all the harriers all in a row
Along comes a pilot
Turns a little handle
Wee Wee puff puff
Off he goes
that'll do for now...difficult to keep them clean!
Hey look us over: (Canadian AF)
Hey look us over
we are the boys
we fly around in our supersonic toys
tax payer's money, who gives a ****
whatever the weather we'llkick the tyres light the fires, faster higher
If thers a war that needs to be won
we are the boys who will surely get things done
Cos we're the boys in green and gold and we will not live to be old
And we fight and die for you.
Top of the world non PC(Carpenters/Tuppy)
CHORUS:
I'm on the top of the world
Looking down on a Jag mate
And the only explanation I can find
Is he's blind or he's dum
With his willy up his bum
Oh I'm sitting on the top of the world
Best thing in the world for me would be
To be in behind a Jag calling fox 3
And the reason is clear
It's because they are queer
They're the closest thing to benders I have seen
Phantoms are the only things to fly
Theyre the screaming metal goddess of the sky
Flying high flying fast
Firing missiles up your arse
Its the closest thing to heaven I can find
Chorus
Down at the station:
Down at the station early in the morning
See all the harriers all in a row
Along comes a pilot
Turns a little handle
Wee Wee puff puff
Off he goes
that'll do for now...difficult to keep them clean!
Guest
Posts: n/a
An ode to a Plastic Cab Sqn
For they have a reputation for seducing little boys
For Screwing old age pensioners and stealing childrens toys
They are the perverts of society
Bigger ****s you'll never see
They are a bunch of pissed up bastards
They are the boys of (33/230)
Hey EESDL.....JJ's back!!!!!!!
Lock up your bar book/grandmother/dog
For they have a reputation for seducing little boys
For Screwing old age pensioners and stealing childrens toys
They are the perverts of society
Bigger ****s you'll never see
They are a bunch of pissed up bastards
They are the boys of (33/230)
Hey EESDL.....JJ's back!!!!!!!
Lock up your bar book/grandmother/dog
Guest
Posts: n/a
BGA
Re JJ..Was informed by a couple of 'Civvies' you might know:
Russ Myles (still living on the far side of the border) and Dougie House (Aeromega) both added thir exclaimation marks to the news.
Must try and get up Salopia soon....
anyway, back to Sqn Songs:
The Tornado/Phantom/any fast-jet will do
I was flying my Tornado down the weapons range one day,
When the navigator looked up and felt he had to say:
"The RADAR's gone tits up and the TV's up the spout,
I'm sorry chaps but we're going to have to bang out!"
There goes another thirty million,
There goes another thirty million,
There goes another thirty million
and a Wessex* only cost ten grand!!
*Needles-to-say, you can insert "Herc", or any other ancient aircraft that we have tried to sell to the 3rd World.
Re JJ..Was informed by a couple of 'Civvies' you might know:
Russ Myles (still living on the far side of the border) and Dougie House (Aeromega) both added thir exclaimation marks to the news.
Must try and get up Salopia soon....
anyway, back to Sqn Songs:
The Tornado/Phantom/any fast-jet will do
I was flying my Tornado down the weapons range one day,
When the navigator looked up and felt he had to say:
"The RADAR's gone tits up and the TV's up the spout,
I'm sorry chaps but we're going to have to bang out!"
There goes another thirty million,
There goes another thirty million,
There goes another thirty million
and a Wessex* only cost ten grand!!
*Needles-to-say, you can insert "Herc", or any other ancient aircraft that we have tried to sell to the 3rd World.
Guest
Posts: n/a
Just un-earthed an "F3 Sqn" Drinking Song, to be sung by non-F3 Sqn personnel and to the tune of: "I'm a Lumberjack"
1. I'm an F3 pilot and I'm a screaming hom.
I use my long-range missiles, 'cos I'm too scared to bomb.
CHORUS:
They are F-3 'mates' and they're all queer,
They prat around - the computers steer.
They fire their missiles and run away,
We don't hang around, 'cos they're all gay!
2.I am his navigatore and I'm as bent as him.
Can't use a flight computer, I'm far too f@@king dim.
3. We fly at medium level. we like to think we're cool.
Don't make us chase a Fulcrum...they'll make us look a fool.
4. On Fridays we go drinking in our own back yard.
We 'yam' our Fighting Cocks down, pretending that we're hard.
5. I am their Sqn Ldr and I think I am the boy.
I have no responsibilities....just fly this useless toy.
6. I am the Wg Cdr...I pose and strut around.
I wouldn't recognize an airman 'cos they all work on the ground.
As the Wessex was so 'agricultural' (thank God say some), and the song succintly highlighted the religious hypocrisy of NI, one felt, the following song was adopted by 72 Sqn:
THRESHING MACHINE
Oh Father, Oh Father, I've come to confess,
For I've left a girl in a terrible mess.
Her clothes are all tattered, her tits are all bare
and there's something inside her that souldn't be there!
CHORUS:
I 'ad 'er, I 'ad 'er, I 'ad 'er I 'ay,
I 'ad 'er, I 'ad 'er, I 'ad 'er I 'ay,
and she went for a ride on my threshing machine.
Oh son, Oh son, you should have known better,
for in my day we used a french letter.
Oh Father, Oh Father, you do me unjust
For I used one of yours and the fecking thing bust!
CHORUS
T'was nine months later, a fine Summer morn
a fine litle bouncing baby was born.
And there 'tween his legs, for all to see
was a brand new, twin-cylinder, threshing machine!!!
CHORUS
1. I'm an F3 pilot and I'm a screaming hom.
I use my long-range missiles, 'cos I'm too scared to bomb.
CHORUS:
They are F-3 'mates' and they're all queer,
They prat around - the computers steer.
They fire their missiles and run away,
We don't hang around, 'cos they're all gay!
2.I am his navigatore and I'm as bent as him.
Can't use a flight computer, I'm far too f@@king dim.
3. We fly at medium level. we like to think we're cool.
Don't make us chase a Fulcrum...they'll make us look a fool.
4. On Fridays we go drinking in our own back yard.
We 'yam' our Fighting Cocks down, pretending that we're hard.
5. I am their Sqn Ldr and I think I am the boy.
I have no responsibilities....just fly this useless toy.
6. I am the Wg Cdr...I pose and strut around.
I wouldn't recognize an airman 'cos they all work on the ground.
As the Wessex was so 'agricultural' (thank God say some), and the song succintly highlighted the religious hypocrisy of NI, one felt, the following song was adopted by 72 Sqn:
THRESHING MACHINE
Oh Father, Oh Father, I've come to confess,
For I've left a girl in a terrible mess.
Her clothes are all tattered, her tits are all bare
and there's something inside her that souldn't be there!
CHORUS:
I 'ad 'er, I 'ad 'er, I 'ad 'er I 'ay,
I 'ad 'er, I 'ad 'er, I 'ad 'er I 'ay,
and she went for a ride on my threshing machine.
Oh son, Oh son, you should have known better,
for in my day we used a french letter.
Oh Father, Oh Father, you do me unjust
For I used one of yours and the fecking thing bust!
CHORUS
T'was nine months later, a fine Summer morn
a fine litle bouncing baby was born.
And there 'tween his legs, for all to see
was a brand new, twin-cylinder, threshing machine!!!
CHORUS
Guest
Posts: n/a
Not so much a Sqn song but one that I heard in the Falklands. If anyone can supply the remaining correct verses I would appreciate it. From memory it goes something like this:
Oh The Fu##1n Falklands
The Fu##1n wind it Fu##1n blows
The Fu##1n snot from yer Fu##1n nose
It Fu##1n rains or it Fu##1n snows
oh the Fu##1n Falklands
The Fu##1n phone is Fu##1n Fu##ed
The Fu##1n food is overcooked
I Fu##1n sped and am Fu##1n booked
Oh the Fu##1n Falklands
The Fu##1n bens are as thick as Fu##
I'd rather Fu## a Steamer Duck
Even then I had no Fu##1n luck
Oh the Fu##1n Falklands
.............You get the drift........
Oh The Fu##1n Falklands
The Fu##1n wind it Fu##1n blows
The Fu##1n snot from yer Fu##1n nose
It Fu##1n rains or it Fu##1n snows
oh the Fu##1n Falklands
The Fu##1n phone is Fu##1n Fu##ed
The Fu##1n food is overcooked
I Fu##1n sped and am Fu##1n booked
Oh the Fu##1n Falklands
The Fu##1n bens are as thick as Fu##
I'd rather Fu## a Steamer Duck
Even then I had no Fu##1n luck
Oh the Fu##1n Falklands
.............You get the drift........
Guest
Posts: n/a
Does anyone know the next verse of 'The Flag', the always forgotten one about 'blowing Nelson's column 300 metres in the air!' etc.
Answers on a postcard please.....
Short but effective (and non-PC)
On a green hill far away beyond the city wall,
Our dear lord was crucified, he died to save us all
2, 3, 4..
For he's a jolly good fellow,
for he's a jolly good fellow etc....
Answers on a postcard please.....
Short but effective (and non-PC)
On a green hill far away beyond the city wall,
Our dear lord was crucified, he died to save us all
2, 3, 4..
For he's a jolly good fellow,
for he's a jolly good fellow etc....
Guest
Posts: n/a
Sorry Snapshot - been busy mate
To the tune of "When I'm 64". Many other sqns have copied the idea since, this was the original!
The first verse was penned by me and Hugh Kennedy (RIP), in Gutersloh Bar in 1967/68 as an "anti-2 & 4" Sqn song whilst on detachment from West Raynham on 1 Sqn. Only one verse because by the time we got round to this it was rather late and the brain cells had mostly been destroyed by then in the keller bar. The other verses were put together following a "Buchanan Trophy" competition between 1 Sqn and 54 Sqn, whereupon - piano and pilots on back of truck - the song was taken down to 54's hangar. These verses were "written" by a group of us including - amongst others - Steve Jennings, Wally Walton, Andy Whitson, Mick Hindley, Barry Horton and Mike Stear (if I've left anyone out - sorry).
---
They're pretty good at flying a kite,
What else can they do?
When it comes to Hunter flying they are fun,
They make good targets for Number One.
Watching them sit there, right in our twelve,
Who could ask for more?
Nobody heeds them, nobody needs them
'Cause they're Fifty Four.
Today we met them high in the skies,
Over Saltfleet range.
Rockets they were firing them high and wide
Guns were going all down the side
Bombs they were missing all in the sea
Aircraft handling poor
Oh what a cock-up, how they were shot up
Poor old Fifty Four.
They were all crowing, said they would win,
Like they did before -- ONCE
When we think of all the bull**** they put out
Makes us wonder what they're about
All of the words and none of the deeds
That's why they don't score
Nobody heeds them, nobody needs them
Useless Fifty Four - (get off me barrow)
Use---less---Fif---ty---fooooouuuuuur
To the tune of "When I'm 64". Many other sqns have copied the idea since, this was the original!
The first verse was penned by me and Hugh Kennedy (RIP), in Gutersloh Bar in 1967/68 as an "anti-2 & 4" Sqn song whilst on detachment from West Raynham on 1 Sqn. Only one verse because by the time we got round to this it was rather late and the brain cells had mostly been destroyed by then in the keller bar. The other verses were put together following a "Buchanan Trophy" competition between 1 Sqn and 54 Sqn, whereupon - piano and pilots on back of truck - the song was taken down to 54's hangar. These verses were "written" by a group of us including - amongst others - Steve Jennings, Wally Walton, Andy Whitson, Mick Hindley, Barry Horton and Mike Stear (if I've left anyone out - sorry).
---
They're pretty good at flying a kite,
What else can they do?
When it comes to Hunter flying they are fun,
They make good targets for Number One.
Watching them sit there, right in our twelve,
Who could ask for more?
Nobody heeds them, nobody needs them
'Cause they're Fifty Four.
Today we met them high in the skies,
Over Saltfleet range.
Rockets they were firing them high and wide
Guns were going all down the side
Bombs they were missing all in the sea
Aircraft handling poor
Oh what a cock-up, how they were shot up
Poor old Fifty Four.
They were all crowing, said they would win,
Like they did before -- ONCE
When we think of all the bull**** they put out
Makes us wonder what they're about
All of the words and none of the deeds
That's why they don't score
Nobody heeds them, nobody needs them
Useless Fifty Four - (get off me barrow)
Use---less---Fif---ty---fooooouuuuuur
Guest
Posts: n/a
Not so much a song - more of a "talking blues". This was originally written by me and Charlie Montgomery when we were students on basic flying training at Syerston in 1964/65. Subsequently amended a few times by me. I'm sure Charlie still uses it (amended by him of course) in Australia --- time you came back for a few beers mate!!!
THE MET MAN BLUES (or A Day In The Life Of A Fighter Pilot) --- twelve-bar blues in E.
I get up in the morning and I go to Met Brief
And I hope to Hell that that Met Chief
Is gonna say that it's turned red again.
'Cos I'm sick of flying and scared of dying
And sure as Hell I'm always trying
To save my soul to live a life of sin
I roll in about a half a minute late
And I'm straight away fixed with a look of hate
And I know there's gonna be a sticky interview soon.
So I avoid the eyes, and I listen to the lies
Of the Met man saying "clear blue skies",
When I walked to the briefing room
Through a raging monsoon
The Met man then amends his views
And comes out with the glorious news
That a fifty foot cloud base arrived -- 2 hours ago!!
It'll clear by ten -- or two -- or six
He's never sure 'cos his barometer sticks,
But we don't care - in fact we pray for snow.
We go back to the crewroom and we laze around,
We're sure glad we're still on the ground,
And then we hear the squawk box loud and clear.
"Get flying" it cries and there are sighs
Of sickness 'cos we all despise
The thought of getting back into the air.
I strap that aircraft to my back,
The nosewheel lifts and it all goes black,
So I relax the "g" and it RAMS back on the ground.
I lift the gear, put the bird on it's ear,
I pull and then I'm full of fear
'Cos the whole damn crazy world is going round.
I fly around for one whole hour,
Straight and level, constant power,
Then the runway meets me with a graunching crash.
My coffee's cold when my tales are told
Of how I've been a steely bold,
And the Boss says "Hey boy, that's just so much trash".
You see I followed you, so if your story's through
You follow me, we'll see what we can do,
Your lack of skills not only large, it's great.
Up in the sky you don't even try,
Your lookout's bad you just can't fly,
So we're posting you to others, like yourself --- on Eight.
The last verse can be modified as necessary to fit whichever outfit you wish to p*ss off!
THE MET MAN BLUES (or A Day In The Life Of A Fighter Pilot) --- twelve-bar blues in E.
I get up in the morning and I go to Met Brief
And I hope to Hell that that Met Chief
Is gonna say that it's turned red again.
'Cos I'm sick of flying and scared of dying
And sure as Hell I'm always trying
To save my soul to live a life of sin
I roll in about a half a minute late
And I'm straight away fixed with a look of hate
And I know there's gonna be a sticky interview soon.
So I avoid the eyes, and I listen to the lies
Of the Met man saying "clear blue skies",
When I walked to the briefing room
Through a raging monsoon
The Met man then amends his views
And comes out with the glorious news
That a fifty foot cloud base arrived -- 2 hours ago!!
It'll clear by ten -- or two -- or six
He's never sure 'cos his barometer sticks,
But we don't care - in fact we pray for snow.
We go back to the crewroom and we laze around,
We're sure glad we're still on the ground,
And then we hear the squawk box loud and clear.
"Get flying" it cries and there are sighs
Of sickness 'cos we all despise
The thought of getting back into the air.
I strap that aircraft to my back,
The nosewheel lifts and it all goes black,
So I relax the "g" and it RAMS back on the ground.
I lift the gear, put the bird on it's ear,
I pull and then I'm full of fear
'Cos the whole damn crazy world is going round.
I fly around for one whole hour,
Straight and level, constant power,
Then the runway meets me with a graunching crash.
My coffee's cold when my tales are told
Of how I've been a steely bold,
And the Boss says "Hey boy, that's just so much trash".
You see I followed you, so if your story's through
You follow me, we'll see what we can do,
Your lack of skills not only large, it's great.
Up in the sky you don't even try,
Your lookout's bad you just can't fly,
So we're posting you to others, like yourself --- on Eight.
The last verse can be modified as necessary to fit whichever outfit you wish to p*ss off!