«The Lost Diary Of D. B. Cooper»

Tekst: Tom Pacheco    Musikk: Tom Pacheco

They call me D.B. Cooper, that wasn’t my real name
Back in nineteen seventy one, I commandeered a plane
Got some parachutes and money, Two Hundred Thousand Bucks
And I jumped into the rain, when the plane was high enough

Thought I’d freeze as I was falling, but I made it to the ground
I landed on a haystack, miles away from any town
Set my parachute on fire, there was lightning all around
Walked along a raging river, slept inside a cave I found


And I laid low in the forest
Catching fish to stay alive
There were helicopters searching
As the days and weeks went by, for
D.B. Cooper ….. D.B. Cooper …..

Hitched a freight train down to Fresno, with a backpack full of cash
Bought an old car from a wino, there were no questions asked
Drove it all across the country, Nixon was the president
Saw my sketch in every paper, and on every T.V. set

Grew my hair and wore a go-tee, and I got a fake I.D.
My new name Frederick Kurland, With a phony law degree
Got an office in Saint Louis, many clients came to me
Somehow I had the knack, to make a jury set them free


And I met a dark eyed woman
So soulful and so kind
We raised four precious children, one
Did a school report one time on
D.B. Cooper … D.B. Cooper

One FBI informer, he pursued me thirty years
Lookin’ for that big reward, they hung around my ears
On a beach in Martha’s Vineyard, my daughter saw a man
With a black pair of binoculars, who watched me from a van

I gathered up my family, Carly Simon said hello
And went to Logan Airport, for a trip to Mexico
One bright September morning, I remember that day well
He was on the eighty seventh floor when the World Trade towers fell


That tragedy hurt me so bad
I lost a few good friends, but
That FBI informer he
Won’t follow me again
D.B. Cooper …. D.B. Cooper

Now the decades have passed quickly, I’m a Grandpa with a cane
People still write books about that day I leaped off of that plane
That two Hundred Thousand Dollars, isn’t that much to repay
Every banker out on Wall Street, they steal that every day

People still comb through the Northwest, hoping that they’ll find my bones
By the money in a satchel and they’ll never tell a soul
When I’m lying on my deathbed, and I’ve got a week or two
I’m gonna fly out of Seattle and jump without a chute


The cash I got away with
I invested in Bill Gates
No child on earth will ever starve
From the Billions that I made, from
D.B. Cooper .. D.B. Cooper .. D.B. Cooper .. D.B. Cooper