Lyrics

Well the sun comes up and the burners light,
Sherman's leadin’ the charge in the morning fight.
F-16's screamin’ like a drunk ex-wife,
He don’t give a damn, he flies for life.

Popper’s on his wing, got a plan or two,
Pulls G's so hard, makes your balls turn blue.
Decibel's loud, ain't scared of no dive,
Best damn wingman ever born to fly.

We’re the Goatherders, bitch, we fly and fight,
Rippin’ through the sky in the dead of night.
F-16 or Hornet, we’ll bring the pain,
Leave you cryin’ in your hangar in the pourin’ rain.

Fuckin’ 710, squadron tight,
We drink, we cuss, we own the night.
From the ground to the clouds, we raise hell high,
Goatherders in the sky — fuck yeah, we fly!

Nerv’s on the wing, but he’s gone off track,
Turned left when the whole damn squad went back.
Said “Tactical, bro,” with a devil’s grin,
Ain’t no one sure if he’s out or in.

Sherman’s got eyes like a heat-seekin’ bitch,
Calls the shots, and flips the switch.
Popper’s got your six like a dirty ghost,
While Decibel’s chuggin’ jet fuel, makin’ toast.

We’re the Goatherders, bitch, we fly and fight,
Rippin’ through the sky in the dead of night.
F-16 or Hornet, we’ll bring the pain,
Leave you cryin’ in your hangar in the pourin’ rain.

Fuckin’ 710, squadron tight,
We drink, we cuss, we own the night.
From the ground to the clouds, we raise hell high,
Goatherders in the sky — fuck yeah, we fly!

We dogfight, drink, and bang in bars,
Our call signs are louder than your daddy’s cars.
If you see our Viper rollin’ in your sights,
Better kiss your ass goodbye — we own these nights.

So here’s to the boys in the afterburn glow,
With a middle finger flyby for every foe.
Lock ‘n load, it’s a Goatherders thing,
We don’t need no crown — we’re already kings.