Lyrics

I fly an F-18 like I drive my truck —
Fast, loud, drunk, and outta luck.
Dropped a JDAM on a wedding by mistake,
But hey, that goat had a real mean face.

Helmet's full of porn and bad decisions,
I failed math but got missile precision.
Shepherd's screamin', "You're too damn low!"
But I just flipped him off and let one go.

We’re the Sons of Seven-Ten,
A bunch of airborne ass-clowns playin’ pretend.
Got rockets for brains and shit for luck,
But we still make things go boom as fuck.
We don’t herd goats, we terrorize sheep,
Fly high, bomb low, and never sleep.

In my F-16 I took a selfie mid-flare,
Flashed my nuts — now it’s framed somewhere.
My callsign’s “Donkey,” don’t ask why,
Just know it involved lube and a bar fight in Dubai.

We ain't heroes, we’re winged disasters,
We fly like gods and crash like bastards.
We piss jet fuel, shit hot lead,
And once I bombed a Taco Truck instead.

We’re the Goatherders, born to fail,
With a warhead budget and a brain the size of a snail.
Shepherd’s cryin’ on the GCI,
While we loop-de-loop and flip the sky.
No tactics, no plan, just speed and sin —
And we always come last... but we still win.

Goat patch on my shoulder, shame in my soul,
A hundred million dollars just to lose control.
We ain’t savin’ the world — we’re just passin’ gas,
Out the afterburner, flyin’ up our own ass.

Seven-Ten, we salute with one finger,
Baddest bomber boys and bullshit slingers.
We aim like drunk dudes pissin’ at night,
But hit hard enough to start a fight.
So here’s to the goats, and the stupid we send —
We herd, we bomb... and we’ll do it again.


BAAAAAM, GOATFUCKERS!
Goatherders out.