F-86 Sabre-Geschützfeuer löst während des Koreakriegs eine Kanonenbatterie einer MiG-15 aus

Now listen all you airmen, young and old
To the tales of fighter pilots, young and bold
With their fighters painted yellow
Leaping off to contact Mellow
In the crisp Korean air so blue and cold

It was dive bomb ol’ Sinanju, stop the reds
Twelve one-thousand pounders loaded, instant heads
Four birds lined up on the runway
Wish I’d gone to church on Sunday
Hope we catch those lousy commies in their beds

Twenty-thousand over Pyongyang, on northwest
Gas Mask flight about to face the acid test
‘Til at last the Yalu river
Which makes my liver quiver
With flak guns lined up twenty-four abreast

Dust clouds roll up from Antung ‘cross the way
Twenty swept-wing Chinese warbirds out to play
Thirty-sevens, twenty-threes
All lit up like Christmas trees
Salvo off the tip tanks, leap into the fray

Kimpo Tower clears the pattern with great haste
Twenty victory rolls our pilots do with grace
It was thrilling, it was hairy
Near that privileged sanctuary
Syngman Rhee will soon be boss of this whole place

“Kimpo Tower, this is Gas Mask Willie Four”
“I am heading home, I’m through with this damn war”
“I am flying on to K-2”
“Heading one-five-oh for Taegu”
“‘Cause they’re sending back to Moscow for some more”