Oh, a handsome young airman lay dying
Surrounded by wreckage he lay
And the mechanics who stood all around him
Swear these are the words he did say, did say.
Take the cylinders out of my kidneys
Connecting rods out of my brain
From the small of my back take the crankshaft
Assemble Pratt Whitney again, again
Now whenever you’re flying the” Big B’s”
Or airplanes of similar ilk,
Never forget the old ripcord
And always resort to the silk, the silk.
Oh the Big “B’s” a mighty fine airplane
Constructed of rivets and tin
It has a top speed of 150
The ship with the headwind built in, built in.
I never should have joined the Air Corps
Mother, dear Mother knew best
For now I lay here in the wreckage
Pratt Whitney all over my chest, my chest.