I have talked with both Laura Sharp at Parachutist and the Blue Skies folks about a story on songs over the years but they seem to balk at "Francine McFilthy, the Skydiving Whore," and a serious sociology story, "The Cock Choir." I might have to self-publish.
"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. A 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 AssHole... 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.
Hi Jimmy and Howard, Oh the songs!! As long as there are Skydivers there will be songs to sing!! 'Got a copy of "The Parachute Songbook" Dickie and Marilin Webb at the old "Rumbleseat Tavern" at old Elsinore had a few for sale back in '67 or so, 'bought one. Yup Francine was in it. Here some bunch of trips around the sun later I wonder. Somewhere in Central Cal. where the old Diablo and Calistoga Skydivers used to roam, is a lonely old Church Graveyard with two tombstones side by side, for Ernie and Francine Perkins. If you stand at their graveside and listen, that's not the wind you hear but the sound of old cheapo's opening on high and the laughter of old Skydivers who know why the birds sing!!
Maybe Little David age 39 1/2 might know where Fran and Ernie r.i.p.???
(This post was edited by skybill on May 30, 2011, 12:33 PM)
Post edited by skybill
() on May 30, 2011, 12:28 PM
Post edited by skybill
() on May 30, 2011, 12:33 PM