Lyrics

Don’t give me a P-38, The props they counter-rotate, They’re scattered and smitten from Burma to Britain, Don’t give me a P-38.

CHORUS: Just give me operations, Way out on some lonely atoll, For I am too young to die, I just want to grow old.

Don’t give me a p-39, The engine is mounted behind, They’ll tumble and spin and auger you in, Don’t give me a P-39.

Don’t give me a Peter Four-Oh, A hell of an airplane I know, A ground loopin’ bastard, you’re sure to get plastered, Don’t give me a Peter Four-Oh.

Don’t give me a P-51, It was alright for fighting the Hun, But with coolant tank dry, you’ll run out of sky, Don’t give me a P-51.

Don’t give me a P-61, For night flyin’ is no fun, They say it’s a lark, but I’m scared of the dark, Don’t give me a P-61.

Don’t give me an F-84, She’s just a gound-lovin’ whore, She’ll whine, moan, and wheeze, and she’ll clobber the trees, Don’t give me an F-84.

Don’t give me an old Thunderbolt, It gave many a pilot a jolt, It looks like a jug and it flies like a tug, Don’t give me an old Thunderbolt.

Don’t give me a jet Shooting Star, It’ll go, but not very far. It’ll rumble and spout, but soon will flame out, Don’t give me a jet Shooting Star.

Don’t give me an F-86, With wings like broken match sticks, They’ll zoom and they’ll hover, but as for top cover, Don’t give me an F-86.

Don’t give me an F-89, Though Time says they’ll really climb, They’re all in the States, all boxed up in crates, Don’t give me an F-89.

Don’t give me an F-94, It’s never established a score, It may fly in weather, but won’t hold together, Don’t give me an F-94.

Don’t give me an 86-D, With rockets, radar, and A/B, She’s fast, I don’t care, she blows up in midair, Don’t give me an 86-D.

Don’t give me a C-45, So slow it stalls out in a dive, A ground loop built in it, and bird colonels in it, Don’t give me a C-45.

Don’t give me a C-54, Six inches of rugs on the floor, And we’ll go fat-cattin’ from here to Manhatten, Don’t give me a C-54.

Don’t give me a B-45, The pilots don’t get back alive, The MiG-15’s chase ‘em, they soon will erase ‘em, Don’t give me a B-45.

Don’t give me a One-Double-Oh, The bastard is ready to blow, The A/B is there, but you’re sayin’ a prayer, Don’t give me a One-Double-Oh.

Don’t give me an F-102, It never goes up when it’s blue, An all-weather coffin, that flames out so often, Don’t give me an F-102.

Don’t give me a Phantom 4C, Radar, co-pilot, A/B, It may be some fun, but it don’t have a gun, Don’t give me a Phantom 4C.