I used to laugh
at the chopper jockeys
And those things
they travel in
I joked about
how slow they were
And the way they
pound the wind
Some o' the guys
got hoppin' mad
Guess it hit a
sour note
Especially one
called "Shorty"
Man, I always
got his goat.
Each mornin' I'd
climb in my shinin' jet
And leave in a
cloud of dust
And then each
night in the chow hall
We'd meet- and
there we fussed.
And then one day
while makin' a pass
I heard a
terrible clunk
And all of a
sudden my shinin' jet
Was a mass of
smokin' junk.
Somehow I
managed to use my chute
And safely reach
the ground
But I thought I
was a goner
Charlie was all
around.
Not far away, I
heard some shots
And I knew I was
lost for sure
But, then I
heard that poundin' air
And that old
familiar whir.
The chopper came
in shootin'
Like he didn't
even care
That the place
was crawlin' with Viet Cong
And bullets
filled the air.
I ran for his
door and gave a leap
And found myself
inside
Then "Shorty"
turned, and grinned, and asked
"Hotshot! You
need a ride?"
He brought me
back and I guess you'd say
That's how the
story ends
Except one point
I have to make
Don't knock my
chopper friends!