Songs for happy hour
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Songs for happy hour
Spare a thought for those of us stuck in a foreign country on a foreign base with the p.c brigade watching our every move. Well, the happy hours need livening up and we need help remembering the lines to some of the good old air force classics such as SUNSHINE MOUNTAIN, A25?and FATHERLAND(a particular favourite of zee germans).
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someone there must remember the old "hairs on a dicky die doh" number...
not sure on the spelling of that one...
Or...
"twas on the bridge at midnight" and "an engineer told me before he died"...."im a lumberjack etc"
the list is too long to continue...enjoy
not sure on the spelling of that one...
Or...
"twas on the bridge at midnight" and "an engineer told me before he died"...."im a lumberjack etc"
the list is too long to continue...enjoy
I'm sure that there are several more verses, but perhaps this will stir the old memory?
The A25 Song
They say in the Air Force a landing's OK
If the pilot gets out and can still walk away,
But in the Fleet Air Arm the prospect is grim
If the landing's p i$$-poor and the pilot can't swim.
cho: Cracking show, I'm alive,
But I still have to render my A25.
I fly for a living and not just for fun,
I'm not very anxious to hack down a Hun,
And as for deck landings at night in the dark,
As I told Wings this morning, 'Blow that for a lark.'
When the batsman gives "lower" I always go higher,
I drift o'er to starboard and prang my Seafire.
The boys in the "Goofers" all think that I'm green,
But I get a commission from Supermarine.
They gave me a Barra to beat up the Fleet,
I shot up the Rodney and Nelson a treat,
I forgot the high mast that sticks out from Formid,
And a seat in the "Goofers" was worth fifty quid.
I thought I was coming in high enough but
I was fifty feet up when the batsman gave "cut",
And loud in my earphones the sweet angels sang:
"'Float, float, foat, float, float, float, float, float, float, float,
PRANG!"
When you come o'er the round-down and see Wings' frown
You can safely assume that your hook isn't down.
A dirty great barrier looms up in front,
And you hear Wings shout, "Switch off your engine, you _____!"
The Wings of St Merryn in a "Reliant" one day
Set out for Trelliga for tea for to stay,
But as he got there his engine cut out,
And now all you hear is Wings' painful shout:
I swing down the deck in my Martlet Mark Four,
Loud in my ear-'oles the Cyclone's smooth roar:
"Chuff-clank-clank, chuff-clank-clank, chuff-clank-clank-clink!'
Away wing on pom-pom, away life in Drink
I flew over Jay-pan in my F.O. 2
Taking some pictures, admiring the view,
When up came the flack and I turned round about,
And that's why I sit in my dinghy and shout:
I came back to England and much to my wrath
They gave me some dual in an old Tiger Moth,
Which does fifty-five knots or something fantastic,
Which is b loo dy good-o on some string and elastic.
One night in the 'Wardroom a subby named Bash,
An awkward young ba stard with a ginger moustache,
Said, "Chaps I must drown all my sorrows in gin,
I've been twelve hours ashore and I can't get it in."
I sat in the starter awaiting the kick,
Amusing myself by rotating the stick.
Down came the green flag, the plane gave a cough,
"Gor Blimey," said 'Wings'," he has tossed himself off."
Now in the Luftwaffe they never complain
Since Goering invented the pilotless plane.
They sit in the crew room and sing all the day,
And this is the song that they sing so they say:
The moral of this story is easy to see,
A Fleet Air Arm pilot you never should be,
But stay on the shore and get two rings or three
And go out every night on the pi$$ down at Lee.
Cracking show, I'm alive,
But I still have to render my A25.
[edit to make a word acceptable to the computer...]
The A25 Song
They say in the Air Force a landing's OK
If the pilot gets out and can still walk away,
But in the Fleet Air Arm the prospect is grim
If the landing's p i$$-poor and the pilot can't swim.
cho: Cracking show, I'm alive,
But I still have to render my A25.
I fly for a living and not just for fun,
I'm not very anxious to hack down a Hun,
And as for deck landings at night in the dark,
As I told Wings this morning, 'Blow that for a lark.'
When the batsman gives "lower" I always go higher,
I drift o'er to starboard and prang my Seafire.
The boys in the "Goofers" all think that I'm green,
But I get a commission from Supermarine.
They gave me a Barra to beat up the Fleet,
I shot up the Rodney and Nelson a treat,
I forgot the high mast that sticks out from Formid,
And a seat in the "Goofers" was worth fifty quid.
I thought I was coming in high enough but
I was fifty feet up when the batsman gave "cut",
And loud in my earphones the sweet angels sang:
"'Float, float, foat, float, float, float, float, float, float, float,
PRANG!"
When you come o'er the round-down and see Wings' frown
You can safely assume that your hook isn't down.
A dirty great barrier looms up in front,
And you hear Wings shout, "Switch off your engine, you _____!"
The Wings of St Merryn in a "Reliant" one day
Set out for Trelliga for tea for to stay,
But as he got there his engine cut out,
And now all you hear is Wings' painful shout:
I swing down the deck in my Martlet Mark Four,
Loud in my ear-'oles the Cyclone's smooth roar:
"Chuff-clank-clank, chuff-clank-clank, chuff-clank-clank-clink!'
Away wing on pom-pom, away life in Drink
I flew over Jay-pan in my F.O. 2
Taking some pictures, admiring the view,
When up came the flack and I turned round about,
And that's why I sit in my dinghy and shout:
I came back to England and much to my wrath
They gave me some dual in an old Tiger Moth,
Which does fifty-five knots or something fantastic,
Which is b loo dy good-o on some string and elastic.
One night in the 'Wardroom a subby named Bash,
An awkward young ba stard with a ginger moustache,
Said, "Chaps I must drown all my sorrows in gin,
I've been twelve hours ashore and I can't get it in."
I sat in the starter awaiting the kick,
Amusing myself by rotating the stick.
Down came the green flag, the plane gave a cough,
"Gor Blimey," said 'Wings'," he has tossed himself off."
Now in the Luftwaffe they never complain
Since Goering invented the pilotless plane.
They sit in the crew room and sing all the day,
And this is the song that they sing so they say:
The moral of this story is easy to see,
A Fleet Air Arm pilot you never should be,
But stay on the shore and get two rings or three
And go out every night on the pi$$ down at Lee.
Cracking show, I'm alive,
But I still have to render my A25.
[edit to make a word acceptable to the computer...]
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One from the Bible of FAA songs, FAA songbook
Four blades on my wessex (four wheels on my wagon)
Four Blades on my wessex
But I'm still flying along
the Senior P is after me
but I'm singing a happy song.
Three blades on my wessex
but I'm still flying along
a throttle freeze I'm in the trees
but I'm singing a happy song.
Two blades on my wessex
and I'm still flying along
radio's dead, but I'm still ahead
and I'm singing a happy song.
One blade on my wessex
but I'm still flying along
hydraulics duff,if that's not enough
but I'singing a happy song
No blades on my wessex
and I ain't flying no more
fuel and flames, blood and brains
but I'm singing a happy song.
Hope that one helps, and a couple of verses (rotary) for A25;
They taught me to fly in the chipmunk T10
I'd fly round and round and then once round again
the mood of the bird made landing a farce
so I'd go round again and fly straight up my arsse
Chorus
From fixed wing to choppers I swiftly moved on
to discover it's safe with no airspeed clocked on
but if your descent is to 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*** it said wings some more stores in the sea
also got eskimo nell,kathusalem,good ship venus bit too much typing in those for a lunchtime!!
Four blades on my wessex (four wheels on my wagon)
Four Blades on my wessex
But I'm still flying along
the Senior P is after me
but I'm singing a happy song.
Three blades on my wessex
but I'm still flying along
a throttle freeze I'm in the trees
but I'm singing a happy song.
Two blades on my wessex
and I'm still flying along
radio's dead, but I'm still ahead
and I'm singing a happy song.
One blade on my wessex
but I'm still flying along
hydraulics duff,if that's not enough
but I'singing a happy song
No blades on my wessex
and I ain't flying no more
fuel and flames, blood and brains
but I'm singing a happy song.
Hope that one helps, and a couple of verses (rotary) for A25;
They taught me to fly in the chipmunk T10
I'd fly round and round and then once round again
the mood of the bird made landing a farce
so I'd go round again and fly straight up my arsse
Chorus
From fixed wing to choppers I swiftly moved on
to discover it's safe with no airspeed clocked on
but if your descent is to 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*** it said wings some more stores in the sea
also got eskimo nell,kathusalem,good ship venus bit too much typing in those for a lunchtime!!
Last edited by oldpinger; 11th Jun 2002 at 01:48.
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From WWI - something about it that always tugs a string with me - probably because I wish I was that brave:
A young aviator lay dying,
At the end of a bright summer's day (summer's day).
His comrades had gathered around him,
To carry his fragments away.
The aeroplane was piled on his wishbone,
His Lewis was wrapped round his head (his head).
He wore a spark plug in each elbow,
'Twas plain he would shortly be dead.
He spat out a valve and a gasket,
As he stirred in the sump where he lay (he lay),
And then to his wondering comrades
These brave parting words did he say:
'Take the manifold out of my larynx,
And the butterfly-valve off my neck (my neck).
Remove from my kidneys the camrods,
There's a lot of good parts in this wreck.
'Take the piston rings out of my stomach,
And the cylinders out of my brain (my brain).
Extract from my liver the crankshaft,
And assemble the engine again!
'Pull the longeron out of my backbone,
The turnbuckle out of my ear (my ear).
>From the small of my back take the rudder-
There's all of your aeroplane here.
'I'll be riding a cloud in the morning,
With no rotary before me to cuss (to cuss).
Take the lead from your feet and get busy,
There's another lad needing the bus!'
A young aviator lay dying,
At the end of a bright summer's day (summer's day).
His comrades had gathered around him,
To carry his fragments away.
The aeroplane was piled on his wishbone,
His Lewis was wrapped round his head (his head).
He wore a spark plug in each elbow,
'Twas plain he would shortly be dead.
He spat out a valve and a gasket,
As he stirred in the sump where he lay (he lay),
And then to his wondering comrades
These brave parting words did he say:
'Take the manifold out of my larynx,
And the butterfly-valve off my neck (my neck).
Remove from my kidneys the camrods,
There's a lot of good parts in this wreck.
'Take the piston rings out of my stomach,
And the cylinders out of my brain (my brain).
Extract from my liver the crankshaft,
And assemble the engine again!
'Pull the longeron out of my backbone,
The turnbuckle out of my ear (my ear).
>From the small of my back take the rudder-
There's all of your aeroplane here.
'I'll be riding a cloud in the morning,
With no rotary before me to cuss (to cuss).
Take the lead from your feet and get busy,
There's another lad needing the bus!'
I do remember that some of the more enterprising studes on YUAS produced a set of Song Reference Cards (in the style of FRCs - even had a Red Card Section 
)
These were issued to first years so that they could learn all the traditional RAF and YUAS (and student) songs. As the year progressed fines were introduced for misuse of the SRCs ie referring to the SRCs during a Sqn Bash was (if my brain cell remembers correctly 4 squares on the Pigs Barrel!!
Now if somebody could publish those here........!
)These were issued to first years so that they could learn all the traditional RAF and YUAS (and student) songs. As the year progressed fines were introduced for misuse of the SRCs ie referring to the SRCs during a Sqn Bash was (if my brain cell remembers correctly 4 squares on the Pigs Barrel!!
Now if somebody could publish those here........!
Songs at Happy Hour? Surely you need 2 essential ingredients:
1. High morale
2. Sufficient people to make it worthwhile
Sadly these are rare commodities in today's little airforce.......
1. High morale
2. Sufficient people to make it worthwhile
Sadly these are rare commodities in today's little airforce.......
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The words / lyrics to most songs, poems, etc are on the net somewhere if you go looking. I find www.google.com is pretty good, just punch in the title or even a few lines, and see what comes back.
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I dont want to be a stovie,
I dont want to fly jets,
I rather hang around
with wings that go-around,
At least I can hover in my Westland Sea King.
I dont want to be fishhead,
I dont want to live my life at sea, (life at seaaa!)
I rather be a JUNGLIE,
a MarkIV flying JUNGLIE,
So fvck fixed-wing - its Rotary for me ('cor blimey!)
--------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, sausage-side!
The flag flies high above the main mast
I'll fight for the freedom of the Reich
For tonight I fly against England
Against Englands military might.
Chorus:
So give to me your hand Fraulien,
Your lily white hand Fraulien,
For tonight I fly against England
England, Englands island shores, islands shores, island shores
Zeig Heil!
I want to bomb Trafalagar to bomb Trafalgar Square
BIG BOMB!!
And blow Nelsons Column 500m in the air.
You can stuff your F190s and fvck your 109s,
SPITFIRE!!
My Heinkel is superior, my Dornier it is fine.
If I should die in battle, and sink to the bottom of the sea
BIG SPLASH!!
Remember me my darling, I died, I died for thee
***** c'mon CRABBO lets hear a few of your songs!
I dont want to fly jets,
I rather hang around
with wings that go-around,
At least I can hover in my Westland Sea King.
I dont want to be fishhead,
I dont want to live my life at sea, (life at seaaa!)
I rather be a JUNGLIE,
a MarkIV flying JUNGLIE,
So fvck fixed-wing - its Rotary for me ('cor blimey!)
--------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, sausage-side!
The flag flies high above the main mast
I'll fight for the freedom of the Reich
For tonight I fly against England
Against Englands military might.
Chorus:
So give to me your hand Fraulien,
Your lily white hand Fraulien,
For tonight I fly against England
England, Englands island shores, islands shores, island shores
Zeig Heil!
I want to bomb Trafalagar to bomb Trafalgar Square
BIG BOMB!!
And blow Nelsons Column 500m in the air.
You can stuff your F190s and fvck your 109s,
SPITFIRE!!
My Heinkel is superior, my Dornier it is fine.
If I should die in battle, and sink to the bottom of the sea
BIG SPLASH!!
Remember me my darling, I died, I died for thee
***** c'mon CRABBO lets hear a few of your songs!
Last edited by jungly; 12th Jun 2002 at 17:24.
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CD of songs
There is a CD of Rugby songs available which includes the Mayor of Bayswater (one Black one, One White one). The CD No is C5MCD 571 and should be available to order from most outlets. It's called: Ouch!! The ultimate Rugby song collection.
If you are on det at the moment, send me your address and I'll arrange for a copy to come your way.
Regards
If you are on det at the moment, send me your address and I'll arrange for a copy to come your way.
Regards
Did you know...
someone's published a book full of them!
"Bawdy Ballads & Dirty Ditties of the Wartime RAF"
edited by Harold Bennett; Woodfield Publishing, Bognor Regis, ISBN 1-873203-69-1
Doesn't have the music though
Can you hum?
someone's published a book full of them!
"Bawdy Ballads & Dirty Ditties of the Wartime RAF"
edited by Harold Bennett; Woodfield Publishing, Bognor Regis, ISBN 1-873203-69-1
Doesn't have the music though
Can you hum?
AB, that's on page 241:
(not sure how much the censor will cut, will try to ** it)
In the harems of Egypt, close guarded and secret,
The women are of the fairest of hair,
But the very best jerk is owned by a Turk,
Called Abdul Abulbul Emir.
A travelling brothel once came to the town,
'Twas owned by a Shar from afar,
He issued a challenge to all who could f***,
'Gainst Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
Old Abdul arrived with his bride by his side,
He came in a b****y great car,
Bet a thousand gold lumps he'd shag many more rumps,
Than Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
They met on a track with their tools hanging slack,
The starter's gun punctured the air,
They were quick on the rise and the folks gasped at the size
Of Abdul Abulbul Emir.
Although Abdul was quick at flicking his dick,
And the action was learned by the Czar,
He couldn't compete with the long steady beat,
Of Count Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
When Ivan had won he was wiping his d**g,
He stooped down to polish his peer,
He received a great root up his innocent shoot,
From Abdul Abulbul Emir.
[OR:]
Now Ivan had won and was polishing his gun,
And bent over to polish his pair,
When he felt something pass up his hairy great a***,
It was Abdul A Bul-Bul Ameer.
[..]
Now the cream of the joke when apart they were broke,
Was laughed at for years by the Czar,
For Abdul the fool had busted his tool,
In the a***hole of Ivan Skivar.
(not sure how much the censor will cut, will try to ** it)
In the harems of Egypt, close guarded and secret,
The women are of the fairest of hair,
But the very best jerk is owned by a Turk,
Called Abdul Abulbul Emir.
A travelling brothel once came to the town,
'Twas owned by a Shar from afar,
He issued a challenge to all who could f***,
'Gainst Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
Old Abdul arrived with his bride by his side,
He came in a b****y great car,
Bet a thousand gold lumps he'd shag many more rumps,
Than Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
They met on a track with their tools hanging slack,
The starter's gun punctured the air,
They were quick on the rise and the folks gasped at the size
Of Abdul Abulbul Emir.
Although Abdul was quick at flicking his dick,
And the action was learned by the Czar,
He couldn't compete with the long steady beat,
Of Count Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
When Ivan had won he was wiping his d**g,
He stooped down to polish his peer,
He received a great root up his innocent shoot,
From Abdul Abulbul Emir.
[OR:]
Now Ivan had won and was polishing his gun,
And bent over to polish his pair,
When he felt something pass up his hairy great a***,
It was Abdul A Bul-Bul Ameer.
[..]
Now the cream of the joke when apart they were broke,
Was laughed at for years by the Czar,
For Abdul the fool had busted his tool,
In the a***hole of Ivan Skivar.
