As the sun lies upon the hangers,
The birds sing and the cockerel crows.
The farmer in his field next-door, sat upon his combine harvester.
It's nice and peaceful upon the base,
The planes stood silent as the pilots awake.
They awake in their hundreds and go for breakfast,
But there is only one thing on their minds,
They're bombing Bremen.
Nine planes were lost when they last hit Bremen,
And they know,
They're so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
In the briefing room it's very quiet and very cold.
In comes the sergeant,
And the men are told what to bomb.
But all the men can think of now is Bremen and the cold.
The jeeps carry out the men to their planes as they sing in their thick warm leathers.
There's the sound of the engines, all over the base as the lads,
Greet their four propellered war birds and wish each other luck.
'Bang' goes the flare for the start of the engines and the base has the sound of propellers chanting away as the bombs are armed,
And the big bombers are led out.
The twenty or so bombers line up for take off,
The servicemen watch as the first plane leaves the ground and the tail swings to the left a little.
The farmers and schoolgirls and boys stop and look up to wish them good luck.
