Mar 11, 2004, 1:46 PM
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Skydiving Songs & Poems
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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.
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!"
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.
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 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.
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!
"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!"
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.
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.
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.
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".
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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 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.
Originated by Bev Galloway Additional verses by Dan Poynter
To the tune of "Bimini"
The sixth world meet. she started out slow. The winds were high and the clouds were low. When the weather cleared, it was too late, the whole damn meet was a weather date.
(Chorus:) Oh, I wanna jump in the hus-i-ler. This chute is beautiful. I'm tired of crashing and burning, in a T-U, in a T-U.
The U.S. team, they have no fear. All of them smoke, and all of drink beer. Stay out each night 'till quarter past three... They plan to win on strategy.
(chorus)
Our friend Loy Brydon worked very hard. 'Till he invented the double-T. Along came P.I.; cut some more from her. And now they call it the hus-i-ler.
(Chorus)
The P.C. opening is a sight to see. "Malfunctionitis" in a lo-po canopy. A drop and pop or thirty second delay. Damn P.C. openings scare the students away.
(Chorus)
The crossbow is the chute for me. it is nearly as good as the new P.C. I have given both a thorough test, and I'm satisfied with second best.
(chorus)
The suspicious nature of the P.C.A., makes you wonder if they're throwing your money away. The P.C.A. commissioner said "absurd". made his get-a-way in a thunderbird.
(chorus)
I get in a card game with the West Point Cadets. A lousy pair of deuces was the best I could get, so I hock my plane ticket for the money I lack. I'll use the sail wing to get me back.
(Chorus)
Lyle Cameron is the editor of a jump publication. To the skydivers of the world he tries to give an education. He sells many copies, that is easily seen, of his "Yellow journal Jump magazine".
(Chorus)
I made my first jump at Orange this year. When my chute up I was frozen with fear. Maybe the riggers were playing a prank. 'Cause over my head was a twenty-six gore blank.
New Chorus: Oh, I wanna jump a hus-i-ler. This chute is beautiful. I'm tired of landing downwind in a P.C., in a P.C.
Down the way where the jumpers say. That the Pelicans are quite a lot. They jump from morn to night. When you become a Pelican, you've reached the top.
(Chorus) And I'm glad to say I'll never change my ways. I'm a Pelican all the way. My heart is bound...I'll never put them down. Pelican...'till I'm on the ground.
All the way from Main to Florida, everybody comes to attend the meets. You'll never find a more serious bunch. But when it comes to clowning they're all like geech.
(Chorus)
Down to Florida they did go. With their P.C.'S to steal the show. They let Tinker out to do his track. And all they brought was a chicken back.
(Chorus)
Where they say you-all with a southern drawl. In South Carolina we had this meet. The Pelicans were in force. And the demolition team was hard to beat.
(Chorus)
Anywhere they go under the clear blue skies. They jump all day 'till the sun goes down. When the jumping done, it's time for fun. In any beer joint they can be found.
(to the tune of the Wizard of Oz song "If I only had a Brain"
My container's really flashy Reserve is kinda sassy My gearbag is the same, My gloves match my goggles, Match my jumpsuit, match my toggles If I only had a main.
I'd be agreat skydiver My skills they would inspire They all would know my name I'd be on every 4-way On the step or in the doorway If I only had a main.
You can make it any color Neon bright or even duller Pure white and really plain All I'm lacking is the money I'd be such a hot sky bunny If I only had a main.
I'm flying over, the L.P. clover That I've over-flown before; The first load was students, the second freestyle, The third was a bad spot, they missed by a mile.
There's no need complaining Cause now it's raining It's beer that I'm reaching for. I'll be puking over, the L.P. clover That I've over-flown before!
The Chauvinist Pig Team we call them, The Chauvinist Pig Team they are, With swear words and bad breath, Big egos, wet armpits, And jumpsuits that smell like manure.
We watch as they Z out the airplane, We watch as they take out the star, And after they get down, they still try and tell us What wonderful jumpers they are.
He's constantly pulling his pants down, The reason we don't really know - We pitythe fool, trying to show off his tool, Cuz two inches just ain't much to show.
They talk about how dumb the broads are, And how all we can do is screw But what they don't realize is, men are no better, For fucking will usually take two!
And now that we have your attention, There's something we'd like to say: You chauvinist pigs can complain all you want, But in skydiving, we're going to stay!!!
This man is your man, this man is my man, From Skydive Coolidge to the L.P. DZ From any bedroom to the DC-threeee This man will sleep with you or me.
This man is your man, this man is my man, From stealing your slot to falling low on me. From pointing fingers, to downright lying - This man will NEVER take the blame!
This man is NOT ours, and NEVER will be. He's ALWAYS been slime, and ALWAYS will be! From the beiseker Hilton, to the Saddletramp Inn, This man's NOT FIT for you OR me!!
You are my base, dear, My only base, dear You are so heavy You fall like lead We'll never know, dear, If we can catch you Cause we float above you instead!
The other night, dear, As we lay sleeping We dreamt we had you In our grip But when we jumped, dear, It was a funnel You're so heavy, you sink like a ship.
Your leg was broken on your first skydive We heard you screaming, like a baboon You are a wimp, you are a baby You are a pussy, what's wrong with pain?
Your dick was broken on your next skydive. We saw you grab it, instead of the cord. We thought it funny, and yes, we laughed, Cuz how your dick looked pulled from your crotch.
You are dismembered, you are a eunuch, Born of a new breed of jumpers today. You get no blowjob. Can't even jack off! You're just been ripped off, in the worst way!
(to The Battle of New Orleans) (sing slower than normal to be understood)
In 1991 we came to Kalispell To jump with you and drink with you and raise a little hell. We've got some songs for you we know you'll like to hear But the price of the concert is, you owe us all a beer!
Chorus We come from Arizona and we come from California, Manitoba and Saskatchewan, Alberta and B.C. We're the minority, a skydiving sorority We're the Crack Choir and we've quite a sight to see.
We learned the lessons that the past had to teach. We won't do any nude jumps out of Elevator's Beech! The wagon wheel's gone so we can't hang upside down But the girls of the Choir are the most fun around.
WELL I KNOW JUST WHY I CAME HERE TONITE NEED THAT DIAMOND GOTTA GET IT RIGHT. OVER THERE I SEE THE BASE PIN WHEN THEY GET THE WEDGE I'M COMIN' IN. NYLON TO THE LEFT OF ME, NYLON TO THE RIGHT HERE I AM - WRAPPED IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU HERE I AM - WRAPPED IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU
NOW I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M GONNA DO I'M IN QUICKLY SPINNING MAL WITH YOU. SHOULD WE RIDE IT SHOULD WE CUT IT AWAY? WE'RE AT TEN GRAND AND IT'S HARD TO SAY. JACK KNIFE IN MY LEFT HAND, ZAK KNIFE IN MY RIGHT HERE I AM - WRAPPED IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU HERE I AM - WRAPPED IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU
HARD OPEN'S WHAT WE'RE GETTING
SO WE STAY ON AIRPLANE HEADING YEAH. (do do do do....da-do do do do.....)
NASSERED HARD INTO THE SLOT
NOW JUST LOOK AT WHAT WE GOT.
we said We ee ee ee eeeeee
we said We ee ee ee eeeeee
WELL IT ONLY TOOK A SECOND OR TWO WE DECIDED WHAT WE'RE GONNA DO. WE LOOKED AND THEN WE COUNTED TO THREE CUT AWAY AND WE WERE FALLIN FREE. ONE DUDE ON THE LEFT SIDE, ONE DUDE ON THE RIGHT HERE I AM - DOIN' A TWO WAY WITH YOU HERE I AM - DOIN' A TWO WAY WITH YOU
WE TURNED AND STARTED TRACKIN AT THREE JUST HOW HARD WILL THIS OPENING BE? PULLED THE SILVER HANDLE AND WHAM! RESERVE CANOPY OH MAN. RISERS ON THE LEFT OF ME, RISERS ON THE RIGHT HERE I AM - RIDING RESERVE WITH YOU HERE I AM - RIDING RESERVE WITH YOU
WELL WE HAD THIS BIG FORMATION
WAS THE BIGGEST IN THE NATION HUH. (do do do do....da-do do do do.....)
WE KNEW WE'RE GONNA WRAP
WHEN IT STARTED GOIN' TO CRAP
we said Je ee ee ee eeeezzz
we said Je ee ee ee eeeezzz
NOW THAT WE'RE ADDICTED TO CREW THERE'S ON MORE THING WE GOTTA DO. GOTTA GET ANOTHER BASE PIN USED THE RAVEN TWO'S AND SLAMMED THEM IN. DACRON ON THE LEFT OF ME, DACRON ON THE RIGHT HERE I AM - ANOTHER BI-PLANE WITH YOU HERE I AM - ANOTHER BI-PLANE WITH YOU
THIS COOL JUMP ISN'T OVER JUST YET THERE'S ONE MORE THING WE GOTTA GET. TURNED IT TO THE AIRPORT TO SEE IF WE COULD HIT THAT PIT OF PEAS. HONKED IT TO THE LEFT, THEN HONKED IT TO THE RIGHT HERE I AM - DEAD CENTRE LANDING WITH YOU HERE I AM - DEAD CENTRE LANDING WITH YOU
CAN'T FIND OUR FREEBAGS CUZ WE CUT 'EM FREE BUT OUR BUDDIES FOUND THEM STUCK IN THE TREES. GOT OUR RIGGER AND WE PACKED UP AGAIN GEARED UP AND THEN WE JUMPED IN THE PLANE. WING SPAN ON THE LEFT OF ME, WING SPAN ON THE RIGHT HERE I AM STUCK IN THE OTTER WITH YOU HERE I AM WRAPPED IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU HERE I AM DOIN' A TWO WAY WITH YO HERE I AM RIDING RESERVE WITH YOU HERE I AM DEAD CENTRE LANDING WITH YOU HERE I AM STUCK IN THE OTTER WITH YOU........
This one is to that old Carpenter's song, "Close to you"
Why are shoes hanging from the wires Look there's one ... in the sun Must be CReW, no other shoe Lands like you
Why are shoes scattered in the street And there's no one, with barefeet! Must be CReW, no other shoe lands like you
On the day that CReW was born The sky gods got together And decided to create a diamond too So it's soft and gentle to the dock With inside first while hollering "Yahooooo" {talk} Incoming, Yahooooo
That is why parts fall from the sky When the CReW gods go flying by Must be CReW no other shoe lands like you
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 typing 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!"
To the tune of You picked a fine time to fail me Luciell
words by Al Miller circa 78 or 79?
On a broken down runway, bout a week from last sunday, We where just climbing into the plane.
When there on a bumper there stood a strange jumper, and he seemed to be almost insane.
Well he said with a shout, can I follow you out, and he sure had a starnge looking rig,
It was a front mounted prettzle, an Eddie Grimm special, while the rest of us all wore a pig.
Well after the jump when it came time to dump, and the 10 man had finally split
And after cutting away from the first mal that day this new guy was starting to shit
His reserve wasn't working after lots of hard jerking and just when he thought he was dead
In a voice that was spliting from the bricks he was shiting, He looked at his Pop Top and said
You picked a fine time to fail me reserve, I'm at 400 feet and I'm losing my nerve. I've had some bad ones, and lived through some sad ones, but this one I just don't deserve.
You picked a fine time to fail me reserve.
Well after he bounced we all smoked up an ounce, and we stared in the hole that he made.
And I started to wonder if maybee I'd thunder, the next time that I cut away.
The Wuffos report there's a much safer sport, but I think I'll keep jumping instead,
And if my square dosn't open I'll cut away hoping and remember the last words he said.
You picked a fine time to fail me reserve, I'm at 400 feet and I'm losing my nerve. I've had some bad ones, and lived through some sad ones, but this one I just don't deserve.
Reading these poems got me thinking of death. Aren't there any cheery skydiving tunes? Anyway, death and my first skydive are closely linked so I went and wrote this little ditty. Dedicated to a former co-worker named Phil.
I doubt I would be jumping but for the cancer that Phil had. He invited, I said yes. I even brought my dad.
My father and myself, and 4 from the office crew, all drove out to the DZ to jump into the big blue.
We landed and we laughed. We each shared our thrill. Some of us jumped again. At least one never will.
We all had quite a blast, Phil the most of all, even though he knew that death was coming to call.
In two weeks it was whitewater. I didn’t have the cash. But I’d hang with Phil again at his office birthday bash.
There was no birthday party ‘cause the cancer took Phil down. I got word second hand that he was quickly loosing ground.
Phil died soon thereafter We all missed his smile. But work and life continued. Another day, another mile
It’s been almost 10 years now and I don’t think of him often. Time heals all wounds and the sorrow will soften.
But on the way up to altitude, and at 135 miles per hour, and hanging under the canopy, there’s GOT to be some power
O Lord, won't you buy me, a G-92, My friends all jump Porters, It's makin me blue! Jumped Cessnas all mah lifetime, Yes Lord it's True, So Lord, Won't you buy me a G-92!
O Lord, won't you buy me, a Turbolet 410, My friends all jump Porters, I must make amends! Jumped Cessnas all mah lifetime, laughed at by my firends, So Lord, Won't you buy me a Turbolet 410!
O Lord, won't you buy me, a French 206, My friends all jump Porters, It's doin in mah tits! Jumped a Cessna all mah lifetime, now it's in bits, So Lord, Won't you buy me a French 206!
Some people say a jumper is made outta cash A poor man's made outta credit and trash Credit and trash and skin and bones A mind that's a-weak and a back that's strong
You jump sixteen times, what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go I owe my soul to the manifest ‘ho
I was born one mornin' when the winds did moan I picked up my rig and I walked to the zone I jumped sixteen times, out at 2 And the DZ boss said "Well, I’m still chargin’ you"
You jump sixteen times, what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go I owe my soul to the manifest ‘ho
I was born one mornin', it was drizzlin' rain Drinkin' and trouble are my middle name I was raised in the loft by an ol' rigger man Cain't no-a high-toned woman make me sober again
You jump sixteen times, what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go I owe my soul to the manifest ‘ho
If you see me trackin', better track away A lotta men didn't, a lotta blood sprayed A helmet of iron, booties tuned true If you’re in my way, I’m comin’ through
You jump sixteen times, what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go I owe my soul to the manifest ‘ho
Har! I remember Little David singing FRANCINE MACFILTHY one night at CM SOLIS' Water Jumps at Clear Lake California many moons ago. Glad to see your still up and trucking, bro. Seen Steve, Nealikins, Luke or any of the others? (I heard about Norton.)
Anyway, here's a song I put together with a buddy of mine around the fireplace at the Antioch Sport Parachute Center back in the 70's while Perry still owned it. Enjoy!
CUT AWAY (Below a Grand) By Pat "Captain Rondo" Regan and Lynn Clean
(Sung to the tune of DIXIE.)
Well I think my riggin' must be gettin' rotten, blew up like it was made of cotton! Cut away! Cut away! Cut away! Below a grand.
Well my head-down dive was a real screamer dumped my main and it rolled up in a streamer Cut away! Cut away! Cut away! Below a grand.
I best throw out my Lo-Po, Oh yeah! Oh Yeah! It aint real fast, but I'll save my ass with a 26-foot Lo-po!
Away! Away! I really had to cut it!
Away! Away! You know I had to cut it!
(Instrumental melody and rythm on guitars to finish.)
Beautiful Streamer, Open for me Blue skies above me But no canopy Pulled at 2000 But waited too long Reached for my reserve but the damn thing was gone.
Beautiful Streamer Open for me Ants and small pebbles I'm starting to see
Beautiful Streamer Open for me Blue skies above me But no cano....
Blood on the risers (TO THE TUNE OF"GLORY, GLORY, HALLELUJAH")
He was just a rookie trooper, And he surely shook with fright As he checked all his equipment And he made sure his pack was tight.
"Is everyone happy?", cried the sargeant, 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)
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)
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)
The days he's lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind, He thought about his girl back home, the one he left behind, He thought about the medics and wondered what they'd find, HE AIN'T GONNA JUMP NO MORE!
(CHORUS)
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)
He hit the ground, the sound was "SPLATT", 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)
There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon his 'chute Intestines were a'dangling from his 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)
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 GONNA JUMP NO MORE!!!!!
And one beautiful poem, by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or even eagle flew - And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
Here's another song I wrote back in the 80's. It's an old Kenny Rogers duet. I have a few mroe previously un-published songs I'll post here from time to time. Enjoy!
“Don't Ride Too Long on a Streamer” by Duncan Mc Ewan, C-19645 (C) 1994 To the tune of "Don't Fall in Love With a Dreamer". A Duet for a man and a woman.
(Man): Just look at this, streamer there. It just never will catch in the air. And it'd be so easy, to play with the lines, like I've done so many times...
(Woman): I was so sure, this would be the time. You'd play too long, and crater in the ground, 'cause you are too proud, to cut it away, like you've done so many times...
(Chorus:) (Duet): Don't ride too long on a streamer, `cause it will always take you in. Just when you think, you've really cleared it, it'll close on you again... Don't ride too long on a streamer, `cause it'll hurt you every time. (Man): Just chop it away. (Woman): don't hang on, (Duet): and kiss your main good-bye.
(Woman): Now it's mornin', and the phone rings. They say you got a fractured femur... You just got to stay but you wont change your mind.
(Man): And if you knew what they were thinkin' girl. Of surgery, It'd seem like being grounded, girl, Until the end of time...
(Chorus) (Ending tag:) ...and kiss you main good-bye... ...good-bye.
The reference to an SCR in this one will pretty well date me.
“Another One Bites the Dust”
by Duncan Mc Ewan (C) 1982
(Sung to the same tune.)
He just couldn't wait for green light He had to have that beer. And he should have been on a static line, 'hadn't made a jump in a year. Hey! He's got streamer, he'd better cut it away. He's still tryin' to clear that main, 'gonna take it all the way. Look out!
(Chorus:) Another one bites the dust. Another one bites the dust. And another goes in, And another goes in, Another one bites the dust. Hey! Gonna hit by you, Another one bites the dust.
She just arrived at the DZ; she knew nobody there. The boys all said "hey, wanna get your SCR sweet maiden fair?" She said "great, sound's good to me", and off in they plane flew. Too bad the boys didn't realize she's just AFF level two. Look out!
(Chorus)
Hey! Oh chop it. Don't eat the dust, You're not adapted...
Hey! Another one bites the dust Another one bites the dust, Aouh. Another one bites the dust, Hey, Hey! Another one bites the dust, Heeeaaaayyyyy...
When he opened his main, he didn't like the way his canopy flew. Then he saw how his lines were wrapped on top, and that is when he knew. To chop it, to cut-a-way. That was the just thing to do. Unfortunately, for the guy above, they were up there doin' crew. Look out!
This is one I never could finish. In fact, I had a hard time starting it. All I got was the chorus, but I like the chorus. Maybe someone can figure out verses.
"Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Jumpers"
by Duncan Mc Ewan To the tune of "Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys"
Mamas, dont let your babies grow up to be jumpers. Don't let 'em drink beer, or jump outta planes. Make 'em be doctors and lawyers instead. Mamas, dont let your babies grow up to be jumpers. They'll nerver be home, always at the drop zone, Doin' that other thing that they love.
This is one I never could finish. In fact, I had a hard time starting it. All I got was the chorus, but I like the chorus. Maybe someone can figure out verses.
"Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Jumpers"
by Duncan Mc Ewan To the tune of "Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys"
Mamas, dont let your babies grow up to be jumpers. Don't let 'em drink beer, or jump outta planes. Make 'em be doctors and lawyers instead. Mamas, dont let your babies grow up to be jumpers. They'll nerver be home, always at the drop zone, Doin' that other thing that they love.
Holy thread revivals, Batman!
At Elsinore's Chicks Rock Boogie last year, I met someone who apparently finished your song with verses... I played guitar to it and she sang the song. I wish I could remember how it went.
I had either forgotten this thread or never saw it when it was happening. Most of the first bunch from Twardo were initially collected in a booklet published by Dan Poynter when he was working for PI in Orange. He sold it via mail and it had an Orange, MA PO box number for the return address. The Orange postmaster had a problem with lyrics such as "Francine McFilthy, the skydiving whore," and told Dan he could no longer mail it as it had been published; an alternate adress sticker was pasted over the original one. Scary.. I know/knew a lot of the original lyricists and some of the people and places mentioned in them. If anyone wants an annotated version, I suppose I could provide it. HW
Movin' to the Drop Zone Gonna buy me a bunch of tickets Movin' to the Drop Zone Gonna buy me a bunch of tickets
Tickets come from a man He is short and Mexican From a barrio down south oh yeah
If I had my little way I'd be jumpin' every day DZ tickets in my hand
Movin' to the Drop Zone Gonna buy me a bunch of tickets Movin' to the Drop Zone Gonna buy me a bunch of tickets
Packed my pilot chute inside Gotta jones for an altitude ride Gotta a ticket for a hot skydive
Gonna spot the Otter with ease Because I am not Japanese Freefallin' without a care As long as Wade stays outta my air My new rig and knees in the breeze
Millions of tickets Tickets for me Millions of tickets Tickets for free!
Movin' to the Drop Zone Gonna buy me a bunch of tickets Movin' to the Drop Zone Gonna buy me a bunch of tickets Movin' to the Drop Zone Gonna buy be a lot of tickets!
(This post was edited by ZigZagMarquis on Aug 2, 2009, 7:42 AM)
My Falcon 265 Surely this is why I'm alive. I jump a Falcon 265. When I got the License "D", throwing out at 2,000 was for me. Wuffos on the ground used to say: "Why in the Hell does he do it that way?" But for me I had little fear, I had great confidence in my gear. This is why I'm still alive, my trusty dusty 265. I'm not small, and i'm not made of lard, but that damn falcon has always opened quite hard. As time past the back pain became chronic, I don't mean to sound sardonic, So I placed a call to Precision Dynamic and spoke to Galloway George the chief parachute mechanic. He said son Let me tell you someti'n, didn't you knowed? Than Falcon chute is Reserve TSO'D! A true story!
(This post was edited by robskydiv on Aug 2, 2009, 8:25 AM)
In reply to "don't know...can you mumm a few bars" in the post of the song "O Lord."
It's a parody of an old Janice Joplin song. It's called "Oh Lord Won't You Buy me a Mercedes Benz." It goes back to the early 70's I think.
MrSoundman
This may have been one of the eaziest songs to parody ever written. At least it was the most parodied. With the possible exception of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Well, here's my version, written in '72 or '73 by Dave Story and me on the way to Palatka.
Oh Lord, won't you buy me a colored PC My freinds all jump one - ones Thet're outdriving me Worked all of my lifetime To get in the peas So oh Lord won't you buy me a colored PC
Oh Lord won't you buy me a custom made pig My backbone is weary from this military rig Can't fit in the airplane Cause my gutter is too big So oh Lord, won't you buy me a custom made pig
Oh Lord won't you build me a big 8 man star I've only been base for a 4 man so far Worked all of my lifetime For my SCR So oh Lord won't you build me a big 8 man star
Hank McCarrick jumped at and may have been a part owner of the Taunton, MA DZ in the late 60s. He was a party animal and had something of a reputation for flying drunk. He and three other jumpers were killed when his Mooney hit an island off the Massachusetts coast late one weekend night.
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.
Oh, the memories :D (I just learned of this thread thx to MikeJD). Really great stuff - the stuff of legends. Thanks again, Jeannie
Our club onece had a spotter who was really something hot He'd remove the students toggles and still drop them on the spot He never took a student up who ever chickened out He'd get them standing on the wheel and to the pillt shout
"Gear up and let hin go, There's not a damn thing but the target down below Gear up and let him fall. If he don't open he's a gonner."
Willy took a new girl up He had her on the wheel The plane was nearing exit as she started to appeal Willy held her out there wouldn't let her back inside With his free hand grabbed the gear switch and then to the pilot cried
"Gear up and let her go, There's not a damn thing but the target down below Gear up and let her fall. If she don't open he's a gonner."
The plane was now asending to the 30 second height Willy he unhooked his leg strap just lookin' for a light The leg strap went unnoticed as he climbed out on the wheel And as he started back inside he heard the pilot squeal
"Gear up and let hin go, There's not a damn thing but the target down below Gear up and let him fall. If he don't open he's a gonner."
Willy snatched to tie his legstrap but he went into a spin Pulled and came out of his harness and he started augering in But his eyes they kept a'searching and like always found the spot He went into a track made a splash right on the dot.
This is awesome. I wrote a song for my club last year, but it's in Swedish so you'll probably not get a lot out of it. Maybe I'll write one in English some day!
A short one from the Quincy Convention when they couldn't spot the C-130 worth a damn, then Roger said he would spot it from the ground. I'm pretty sure I heard Johnny Gates singing it on the way to altitude.
I've been searching for the Drop Zone All the live long day. I've been searching for the Drop Zone Fifteen Miles away.
Can't you see the Mississippi Flowing down below, Can't you hear the jumper shouting "Which way shall we go?"
Skydivers cohabit a special realm where they and clouds kiss the sky enfolded upon her soft arms of wind. Our sky is lovely and bigger than forever. Embrace her. XOX.
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.
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.
HW
"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.
A substantial number of these songs came from Orange., MA (my home DZ.) I knew a lot of the people who wrote them and sung them at the famous Inn at Orange. I'd really like to figure out how to preserve of these memories. Except maybe at Lost Prairie, skydivers don't to sing anymore.
As a young jumper, along with excessive drinking, I was introduced to a lot of the Songs & Poems (and variations thereof) featured in this thread. It's great to see them again, and to learn new ones.
Over the years I have written a few of my own. They are usually inspired by the funny things that happen at DZ's, competitions and at Boogies etc. Mostly they would only be understood by people who were there.
Sometimes the not so funny things also inspire:
In SA skydiving, we refer to the planet earth as "The Stone". ("Die Klip" in Afrikaans) Despite the many who have failed at trying to beat The Stone in a one on one hitting match, every year more line up to try. Some pay the ultimate price.
To the tune of "Rainy Day Women #12 And #35"--Bob Dylan-(AKA: Everybody Must Get Stoned)
Everybody Loses To The Stone. LP.
Well the stone wins when you're trying to be so cool, The stone will win because you are a fool. The stone will warn you first it is quite fair A roasted knee- some dust gets in your hair. But I would not feel so all alone, Everybody loses to the stone.
Well the stone wins when you think that you are good, The stone will win just like they said it would. Your friends will have to drive you to your home, The stone will warn you with a broken bone, But I would not feel so all alone, Everybody loses to the stone.
Well the stone wins when you thought you hooked it sweet, When you're broken from your hips down to your feet. The stone wins when you're lying on your bed The pain is still a-throbbing in your head. But I would not feel so all alone, Everybody loses to the stone.
Well the stone wins as the months they slowly pass, You're still pulling grass and thorns out of your ass. You're only mobile with a set of crutches Arth--ritis has you in it's evil clutches. But I would not feel so all alone, Everybody loses to the stone.
Well the stone wins when you think you can return The stone wins when you make that last low turn. At the church they'll say that you were really brave The stone has won and you are in your grave. But I would not feel so all alone, Everybody loses to the stone.
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.
HW
"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)
Haha, I think they've been cleaned up a bit, my dad wouldn't even let me see the original. I had to wait till he was gone, and I still haven't read all of them!
slant to it 
. 
The Parachute Songbook.pdf
