Got the Skyhawk Blues, boys,
Skyhawk Blues all night—
Dreamed my Scooter squadron
Came back lookin’ tight.
Sixteen Birds out on the ramp,
Signed, aligned, ready to go.
Whinin’ engines, pulled the chocks,
Taxi out with my best bro.
Section takeoff, brief on guard,
Every spirit in the groove,
Every bird ready to play.
A Skyhawk smile in every move
Got those Skyhawk Blues…
Yeah, the AFTP Blues…
Your mind drifts to that smell and whine,
It hits your heart and stiffens your spine,
Right down to your shoes.
Got those Skyhawk Blues.
Chasin’ Beaver in his F-8,
He lit burner, zoomed to seventy-eight.
Floating at sixty, I watched him stall,
Watched him reverse, look’in great.
I flipped her over, joined the spin,
Brother laughin’ on the line—
“Knock it off at Nine,”
But we rode that spiral fine.
Dreams roll hard in a vertical dive,
And a pilot’s heart beats loud and alive.
Then I grabbed the bedpost,
Snapped it clean in two.
Woke up sweatin’, thinkin’
Skyhawks left without my cue.
Ain’t no feelin’ like a Scooter turn,
Ain’t no thunder like a Pratt & Whitney burn.
You can lose the dream, but you keep the fire—
Once you’ve flown the Hawk, you never retire.
So I grabbed my guitar,
Tried to simmer down,
And I played that Skyhawk Blues
Till the night flew West.
Got those Skyhawk Blues…
Yeah, the AFTP Blues…
Your mind drifts to that smell and whine,
It hits your heart and stiffens your spine,
Right down to your shoes.
Got those Skyhawk Blues.