It was
a dark and stormy night,
not a star was there in sight.
All the mustangs were tied
down to the line.
When a lonely volunteer
stood with mud up to his ear,
he'd or ders to fly old number nine.
Well, his back was racked with pain
as he climbed into the plane
A lonely tear was forming in his eye
And he offered up a prayer
as he climbed into the air
He knew this would be his
night to die
As he flew o 'er Haggaroo,
he let loose a bomber too,
and he figured that he ought to call it quits.
But how was he to know,
that he'd fly so doggone low,
that the bomb blast would
blow his plane to bits?
In the wreckage he was found,
thinly spread around the ground,
the crunchies they raised his weary head.
With his lifetime almost spent,
here's the message that he sent
To the buddies who'd
be sad to see him dead
I used an 8 -2 -10 delay,
but it didn't work that way
Without a tail, a Mustang doesn't fly
Tail skipper now for me,
he's got only 23
He can roll up the ladder,
Semper Fi
You