Hey, look us over, ain't we the sight
We flew with Four-One-Six the other night.
But now we're sent out to clover
So let's fill the cup
'Cause who gives a damn what the policy says,
The only way is up -
To forty thou' in the blue sky
You on my wing
We'll skim the cloud tops
While the engines sing
We had lot's of luck with the old
Recall those glorious days
Before we left the sod
We'd count the wings and engines
Slap the rocket pods
And then the pilot would say
"Observer in you get
I'll fly this airplane to your language profane
While you tune up the radar set".
Way high in the blue sky
Never had a care
Dodging while our rockets scattered everywhere,
We were Four Sixteen in a wicked machine,
A son-of-a-gun of a pair.
And we proved it in the air.
So ... we ... say
Hey, look us over, lend us an ear
Fresh off the squadron
Hours up to here
And if you've heard we're disbanding
You've heard it wrong
They'll take our old Clunk
And then sell it for junk
But memories linger on and on
We'll meet down the road
No matter where we go
If I don't meet you up above
I'll meet you down below
So let's make a toast
It was really the most
And didn't we have it swell
To that final scramble bell
