Your Gunner Wings
Half a wing, but an A.G. wing, a brand of a hand of steel,
He's a man that's there in the scorching air,
and no blow can make him reel.
There's a heart that's strong, for the battle's long,
and his eyes are clear and bright.
His aim is true, his errors few,
as he flies through the dark at night.
There's gut in a Gunner's make-up,
There's an urge to get out and fight.
There's a swagger there and a "devil may care,"
for he knows he's always right.
There's a gleam in his eyes as he searches the skies,
A song of war in the dark.
There's a thundering roar in the muzzles boar
As the bullets find their mark.
His guns are his greatest treasure,
he knows them and trust their aim.
They're the only way he has to pay,
or he can't stay in the game.
He's ready to face the rain of lead,
and he smiles when the slugs are hot.
The crew of the ship he flies with
Call him Johnny "on the spot."
That wing that you wear - be proud of it.
You belong there in the race.
And when the fighting is thickest,
keep a smile upon your face.
Wear it with all it's glory; a wing that you really deserve,
But whatever you do, be sure you're true
And show them you have the nerve.