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Flight
Mechanic
He
wears a suit of faded blue
No
badge upon his breast
You’ll
find more streaks of dirty oil
Than
medals on his chest
He
wields a heavy hammer
And
a piece of oily rag
While
other fellows who shoot the Hun
Add
an M.E. to their bag
He
works in wind, mud and rain
And
curses the bloody war
And
wonders ninety times a day
What
he joined the Air Force for.
He’s
only a Flight Mechanic
Nothing
more or less
With
a greasy suit of overalls
In
place of battle dress.
But
he strikes a blow at Jerry
With
his honest British skill
As
well as the pilot who delivers the bombs
Or
the gunner who makes the kill.
So
when you hear of bombings or a Messerschmitt shot down
When
you’ve covered flying hero’s with honour and
renown
When
you’ve given out the D.F.M.’s and D.F.C.’s and
such
Just
think of the Flight Mechanic
He
doesn’t ask for much
Just
shake him by his oily hand
And
say he did a lot
To
make those roaring engines safe
For
the man who fired the shot. |
