Source: Horntip Collection - Half-Mind Hymnal 2011

Lyrics

http://www.fighterpilotuniversity.com/music-and-theater/songs/tchepone / Note: “dial in the mils” is about depressing the pipper, which is depressed or elevated in miliradians, which… well, it’s about setting up the bomb sight, okay?

I was hangin’ ‘round ops, just spendin’ my time, Off of the schedule, not earnin’ a dime, A colonel comes up and he says, “I suppose You fly a fighter, from the cut of your clothes.” He figgers me right, “I’m a good one,” I say, “Do you happen to have me a target today?” Says yes he does, a real easy one, “No sweat, my boy, it’s an old-time milk run.”

I gits all excitedand asks where it’s at, He gives me a wink and a tip of his hat. “It’s three-fifty miles to the northwest of home, A small peaceful hamlet that’s know as Tchepone.” (Ah, you’ll sure love Tchepone!)

I go get my G-suit and strap on my gun, Helmet and gloves, out the door on the run; Fire up my Phantom and take to the air, Two’s tucked in tight and we haven’t a care.

In forty-five minutes we’re over the town, From twenty-eight thousand we’re screamin’ on down. Arm up the switches and dial in the mils, Rack up the wings and roll in for the kill.

We feel a bit sorry for the folks down below, Of destruction that’s comin’ they surely don’t know; But the thought passes quickly, we know a war’s on, And on down we scream toward peaceful Tchepone.

Release altitude, and the pipper’s not right, I’ll press just a little and lay ‘em in tight; I pickle those beauties at two-point five grand, Startin’ my pull when it all hits the fan.

A black puff in front, and then two off the right, Then six or eight more and I suck it up tight; There’s small arms and tracers and heavy ack-ack, It’s scattered to broken with all kinds of flak.

I jink hard to left and head out for the blue, My wingman says, “Lead!They’re shootin’ at you!” And still comes the fire from the town of Tchepone. (Dirty, deadly Tchepone!)

I make it back home with six holes in my bird, With the colonel who sent me I’d sure like a word; But he’s nowhere around, though I look near and far, He’s gone back to Seventh to help run the war.

I’ve been ‘round this country for many a day, I’ve seen the things that they’re throwin’ my way; I know that there’s places I don’t like to go, down in the Delta and in Tally-Ho, But I’ll bet all my flight pay the jock ain’t been born, Who can keep all his cool when he’s over Tchepone.