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)
