The original version carried this warning: “This is a RESTRICTED publication. Please do not leave it about carelessly on the tops of various bars, pianos, etc; however, when the time a place is right, sing them with all your might.” When editing them thirty years later, one is struck not with the unabashed sexual references in some of the songs, but with adolescent nature of the humor in many of them. When you remember our age at the time, neither is surprising. Here are a few printable samples, just as they were sung in the NCO and Officers’ Club.
Horace L. Varian
DOWN IN THE RUHR VALLEY
(Tune: Birmingham Jail)
Down in the Ruhr Valley, flying so low
Some chair-borne bastards said we must go.
Flak loves big bomber, fighters do to,
P-51 boys, what’s happened to you?
Write me a letter, send it to me
Send it in care of Stalag Luft three.
(There were many verses – usually composed on the spot)
FORTRESS LEAVING BOMBAY
(Tune: Bless Them All)
They say there’s a Fortress just leaving Calais bound for the Limey shore.
It’s heavy laden with petrified men and stiffs who are laid on the floor.
There’s many a Heinkel made many a pass, I saw many a Messerschmitt fall.
They shot off our bolics, shot up our hydraulic, but cheer up my lads, Bless ‘em all!
Chorus: Bless ‘em all, bless ‘em all, the long and the short and the tall.
Bless all the blondies and all the brunettes, each airman is happy
to take what he gets, so we’re giving the eye to the all.
To those who attract and appall, each Sally and Susie you can’t be
too choosy, so cheer up my lads, Bless them all! (Chorus)
The cloud was eleven-tenths right on the deck, and tried bloody hard to be more.
They dug up a windmill and six thatch-roofed shacks, when they tracked us back to landfall.
There’ll be no promotions this side of the ocean, so cheer up my lads, Bless ‘em all. (Chorus)
(Tune: My Bonnie)
Our Bomb Group goes always to Merseburg,
Our bomb group it never turns back.
We go right to the target, we don’t give a damn for the flak.
Chorus: Merseburg, Merseburg, Oh look what has a happened to me.
Merseberg, Merseberg, Oh look what has happened to me.
We fly with those 95th bastards, they’re as yellow as yellow can be.
They turn 20 miles from the target, and look what has happened to me.
(Many verses questioning the courage of the entire 8th AF, with the exception of the 100th)
(Tune: McNamara’s Band)
Oh my name is Colonel (who ever happened to be the Gp CO) I’m the leader of the Group
So gather ‘round you pilots and I’ll give you the poop.
You wonder where the Luftwaffe is and all about the flak.
I’m the last one to take off and the first one to get back.
Chorus: Early aborts, avoid the rush. Early aborts avoid the rush
Oh, my sister’s name is Minnie and she plots the Yankee flights
She monitors their radios in daytime and at night she listens to
their corny quips until she is nearly deaf. She’s even been
propositioned over Yankee V.H.F.
Oh, my name is “Two Drawer” Merrill and I’m just a paddle-foot
When the 17’s are up I think the idea’s good.
Oh, the guns begin to blaze and the flak begins to pound
But it doesn’t bother me at all for I am on the ground
Oh, my name is Doc McCathy and the call me “Mac the Quack.”
I’ll give you a shot of whiskey whenever you get back.
MONTY WAS TRACKING THE HUN
It was England in Spring, Churchill said, “Heave that thing, for we’ve got the blokes on the run.”
It came out n bold type which bandied such tripe, that Monty was tracking the hun.
The weather was clear, for the first time this year, for the first time this year
and each man was cleaning his gun. With a stare on his face as he bent to the chase,
for Monty was tracking the Hun.
With smoke pots full blast to hide troops that had passed, as they marched
with their backs to the sun. With full hunting gear they called back to the rear that
Monty was tracking the Hun.
With tanks loaded for bear in barrage in air, his boy captured yards one by one.
While Patton in style covered 35 miles,
while Monty was tracking the Hun.
With United States Gobs and Canadian Bobs and with the 8th Air Force
was hiding the sun, he had Frenchmen and Poles in Limey foxholes,
for Monty was tracking the Hun.
To the folks in the pubs who were flubbing their dubs, the war was practically won.
High over the Rhine his beacon does shine,
for Monty’s still tracking the Hun.
(Many additional verses which treat Monty a little less kindly as the go along)