I took off from George, it was early one morn,
And the weatherman said't would be balmy and warm.

Well, I wish he flew with me to see how it feels,
I passed o'er the coast with a storm at my heels,


I flew on for hours, it seemed like much more,
I sat at the stick till my buttocks were sore ;
Finally got to that point far from land

Where there were supposed to be tankers at hand.

OH, THAT IN FLIGHT REFUELING

DON'T LEAVE MUCH TIME FOR POOLING,
THE BASTARD WON'T FLY WHEN THE TANKS THEY RUN DRY,
YOU DEPEND ON THAT IN FLIGHT REFUELING.


You probably guessed it, no tanker was there,
Nothin' in sight but the ocean and air,

The guage stood at zero, my courage did too,
Then one lousy tanker flew into my view.


'What ho,' called the scanner, 'It's under your wing,
'And if you don't hook up now, you're likely to ding.'
The funnel it hit me one hell of a blow,

I looked with alarm at the water below.

CHORUS


The engineer called, 'Sir, you're takin' on fuel!'
Well, the !@$( was lying, a dirty old fool.

I called to the scanner, 'The valves are still shut,
'Turn 'em on fast, or I'll kick in your butt;'


'I can't get 'em open, sir,' he said with a grin.
Why, you know, there are days when you just cannot win.
That's the end of my story, I'm sorry to say,

And my old F-100 lies out in the bay.

CHORUS