I Wanted Wings
I wanted wings 'til I got the goddam things
Now I don't want them anymore
They taught me how to fly, then they sent me off to die
I've had a belly full of war
You can save those goddam Zeros
For those other goddam heroes
Distinguished Flying Crosses
Do not compensate for losses, Buster
I wanted wings 'til I got the goddam things
Now I don't want them anymore
I'll take the dames while the rest go down in flames
I got no desire to be burned
Air combat spells romance but it makes me wet my pants
I'm not a fighter I have learned
You can save those Mitsubishis
For those other sons-of-bitches
'Cause I'd rather lay a woman
Than be shot down in a Grumman, Buster
I wanted wings 'til I got the goddam things
Now I don't want them anymore
I don't care to tour over Berlin or the Ruhr
Flak always makes me lose my lunch
I get the urge to pray when they holler, "Bombs away!11
I'd rather be home with the bunch
For there's one thing you can't laugh off
And that's when they shoot your ass off
I'd rather be home, Buster
With my ass than with a cluster, Buster
I wanted wings 'til I got the goddam things
Now I don't want them anymore
Now, I'm too young to die in a damned old PBY
That's for the eager, not for me
I don't trust my luck to be picked up by a duck
After I've crashed into the sea
For I'd rather be a bellhop
Than a flyer on a flattop
With my hands around a bottle
Not a goddamned throttle, Buster
I wanted wings 'til I got the goddam things
Now I don't want them anymore
They feed us lousy chow, but we stay alive somehow
On dehydrated eggs and milk and stew
The rumor has it next they'll be dehydrating sex
That's the day I tell the coach I'm through
I've managed all the dangers
The shooting back of strangers
But when I get home late
I want my woman straight, Buster
I wanted wings 'til I got the goddam things
Now I don't want them anymore
The day that we bombed Metz I ran out of cigarettes
I always smoke one just for luck
They make them by the ton, but I haven't got a one
Oh, what I'd give to have a butt
The home front may be pitching
But I'll still do my bitching
Til I find a real sharp cookie
Who can mass produce some nookie, Buster
I wanted wings 'til I got the goddam things
Now I don't want them anymore
Arrangement Copyright © 1997 Dick Jonas. All rights reserved. Original version words by Jack Dowling; arrangement by Dick Jonas; Air Force traditional, via Bill Getz in "The Wild Blue Yonder"
