Broken down in Denver,
No cash to get me home,
Uncle Sam is looking better,
Than the big old open road.

C 130 rolling down the strip,
Airborne daddy
Going to take a little trip,
Stand up,
Hook up,
Shuffle to the door,
Jump right out
And count to four.

It was a weird
Time to be a soldier,
In 1975,
The Hippies called us
Baby killers,
The memory
Still causes a heavy sigh.

If my chute don’t open wide,
Then I’ve got another one
By my side.
If that chute don’t open too,
Then look out sucker
I’m coming through.

Today the memories
Warm my heart,
Highlights of a life in rear-view.
I gather with my comrades
Every year or so,
And toss back a beer or two.

We’re paratroopers
Jumping on the foe,
Hard-hitting troopers,
Out the door, let’s go,
Guns all around us,
But we’ll smash their lines.
Victory becomes us,
We’re the fighting 509.

Now our boys
Are fighting hard in Iraq,
And we’ll pray every night
Until every soul is back.
The spirit of America
Has grown strong over time,
And the ranks of the American fighting man,
Forms a long and honorable line.

We’re paratroopers,
Now the job is done,
Stout-hearted troopers,
A battle justly won.
Go back and get some rest, boys,
For we will jump again,
Onward ever to victory,
With the fighting 509.

So tomorrow and we’ll bring it,
The fourth of July again,
Two hundred and thirty two years,
Of the American fighting man.
So if only for just a moment,
When the Stars and Stripes pass by,
Take pause and say a prayer,
For the men who have given their lives.

Air, land, and sea,
We have fought to victory.
Daytime or night,
The enemy has felt our might.
Those dear men who must surely die,
Whether be on the ground or in the sky,
Will not, good citizens, have died in vain,
For in victory’s hall, you will find their names.