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THE BALLAD OF 578 (Dick Parks) On any given evening, if you step into the gloom Of any given "O" Club, in one corner of the room, You'll find a grizzled bunch there, drinking lemonade, Of salty fighter pilots - masters of their trade. Anchors aweigh, tailpipes aglow; Old pilots never die! These crusty, daring devils fulfill an ancient role That calls for nerves of iron and a stainless steel soul. It's there that great traditions are shouted to the stars; Not in sissy flying schools, but down in O Club bars. Anchors aweigh, tailpipes aglow; Cowards need not apply! "Sure anyone can fly a plane", you'll hear these veterans say, But it takes a cast-iron occiput to dive into the fray That blazes every evening like a napalmed ammo barn, When they spin sea stories gruesome; each one a classic yarn. Anchors aweigh, tailpipes aglow; War stories never die! Heroes of the past still soar, although in ghostly thread, Like the first test Frisbee pilot whose gyroscope went dead. And the F-11 driver whose luck had turned dark brown: The shells that he had fired - caught up, and shot him down. Anchors aweigh, tailpipes aglow; Anecdotes of the sky! But these were nothing half so grim as the tale of one F-4 That blasted off a catapult on the bleak New Jersey shore. Where once the fabled Hindenburg lighted up the night, This battle-weary Phantom jet took off on its last flight. Anchors aweigh, tailpipes aglow; Lakehurst is never dry! Full of secret hardware, old one-five-five-sev'n-eight Roared off into the fog, then failed to elevate! "Flameout", said the pilot, when they plucked him from a tree. But "flameout" never did explain the absence of debris. Anchors aweigh, tailpipes aglow; New legend of the sky! Unlike the flying Dutchman, which is seen without its crew, No trace of wreckage could be found, excepting just one clue: A secret radar module, about six inches square Was found beneath the pilot's tree, as if it were put there! Anchors aweigh, tailpipes aglow; Without radar, you can't fly! But to this day, five-seven-eight, its radar finally right Without the secret module, patrols the gloomy night. A legend now, when fog rolls in above the Jersey mud, The phantom Phantom, still aloft, screams past and chills the blood! Anchors aweigh, tailpipes aglow; Ghost Phantom in the sky! - partially based on a partially true event! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- from TechRep Ballads @parody @travel @airplane filename[ BA578SNG TUNE FILE: GHSTRIDR CLICK TO PLAY RP |
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