Re: Slim Dusty
(sung to the tune of THE PUB WITH NO BEER)
It's lonesome away from your FREDDIE at sea
When your flying along in a lone S-2G
The cat hurt my back bone,
my arse & my neck.
There'll be no relief 'til we're back on the deck.
Well we're flying around punching holes in the blue,
Trying to hold back a gut-wrenching spew.
We get radar contact,
And then there's a MAD.
And things go from worse to just too f**king bad.
We put in a pattern but can't get a fix,
With 'maybe' on 4, and 'lost contact' on 6.
I've just had a chunder,
I'm too crook to speak.
But I'd feel so much better if my bag didn't leak!
We fly through the CASEX with open bomb doors,
Knowing we have only Mark 44s.
Oh what I could do
With a DUSTBIN or two.
I'd sort out that GOBLIN & it's whole f**king crew!
If the TACCO had not gone for "..just one more MAD",
Things would probably not have turned out this bad.
I look at my watch,
Just one hour has pass.
A six hour sortie on a four hour arse.
And it's no fun away from your HOMEPLATE at all,
When the poopy-suit peehole is too god-damn small!
There's nothing so lonesome.
Shocking or cruel,
When your busting to go & can't find your tool!
Well finding your ship in rain-squalls is hard,
And you know when you trap, your back will be jarred.
But worse than your sore back,
Your arse & your neck,
Is to Larry Mills call "WAVE OFF - FOUL DECK!"