The Lady's Marauder
The B-26 is a lady of parts,
A whole lot of trouble whenever she starts.
She's shy, she's skittish, she's coy, she's bold,
And full many many a pilot she's soon turning old.
A runaway prop on the take-off, 'tis true,
Scares the hell outta me, it would out of you,
But she has them, sure, in any old season
And far's I can see, for no damn good reason.
Then she'll hold one foot daintily in air,
A cute little trick that whitens the hair.
For this baby lands a helluva speed
And three wheels down isn't more than you need.
On the runway she crouches and waddles around
Like a old fat goose ouit of place on the ground.
In the air she's clean, so roundand smooth,
With a little persuasion she'll fly down the groove.
When the pea-shooters threaten, she shoos them away
Like an intent old girl too busy to play.
She doesn't hang around firing ripping bursts,
Just leaves them behind with a roaring spurt.
Of course, if they want to rough and nasty,
She wallops them hard just for being so sassy.
"Yep." said grandpop, storking his beard,
"I flew a twenty-six for over a year.
I wooed her and won her without much trouble,
And wherever we went, we went on the double."
And here's tpo the lady with the numerous quirks,
Who was always so willing to humble the squirts.
Those squirt who trhought it was so easy to fly.
The twenty-six flew ... only God knows why.
S/Sgt. Air Corps
22nd Bombardment Group (M)