A Vladimir Vysotsky piece again. Inspired by the airplane thread to post this. All I can say about it is that it's intense.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWy0NASC-B0&feature=related
"Peace to your home" (mir vashyemu domu) is an old Russian greeting, which happens to make a sound a bit like an engine failure!
The dead man's button is the Russian for a loop, first performed by Pyotr Nesterov in 1913. A button, because it looks like you are stitching one, dead man's because it could be fatal.
Lyrics and music: Vladimir Vysotsky.

ßê - Èñòðåáèòåëü


ß "ÿê" - èñòðåáèòåëü, ìîòîð ìîé çâåíèò
Íåáî - ìîÿ îáèòåëü.
À òîò, êîòîðûé âî ìíå ñèäèò,
Ñ÷èòàåò, ÷òî îí - èñòðåáèòåëü.

 ýòîì áîþ ìíîþ "þíêåðñ" ñáèò,
ß ñäåëàë ñ íèì ÷òî õîòåë,
À òîò, êîòîðûé âî ìíå ñèäèò,
Èçðÿäíî ìíå íàäîåë.

ß â ïðîøëîì áîþ íàâûëåò ïðîøèò,
Ìåíÿ ìåõàíèê çàøòîïàë.
À òîò, êîòîðûé âî ìíå ñèäèò,
Îïÿòü çàñòàâëÿåò â øòîïîð.

Èç áîìáàðäèðîâùèêà áîìáà íåñåò
Ñìåðòü àýðîäðîìó.
À, êàæåòñÿ, ñòàáèëèçàòîð ïîåò:
"Ìèð âàøåìó äîìó!"

Âîò ñçàäè çàõîäèò êî ìíå "ìåññåðøìèòò",
Óéäó, ÿ óñòàë îò ðàí.
Íî òîò, êîòîðûé âî ìíå ñèäèò,
ß âèæó, ðåøèë íà òàðàí.

×òî äåëàåò îí?! Âîò ñåé÷àñ áóäåò âçðûâ!
Íî ìíå íå ãîðåòü íà ïåñêå.
Çàïðåòû è ñêîðîñòè âñå ïåðåêðûâ
ß âûõîæó èç ïèêå.

ß ãëàâíûé, à ñçàäè, íó, ÷òîá ÿ ñãîðåë,
Ãäå æå îí, ìîé âåäîìûé?
Âîò îí çàäûìèëñÿ, êèâíóë è çàïåë:
"Ìèð âàøåìó äîìó!"

È òîò, êîòîðûé â ìîåì ÷åðåïêå,
Îñòàëñÿ îäèí è âëèï.
Ìåíÿ â çàáëóæäåíüå îí ââåë è â ïèêå
Ïðÿìî èç ìåðòâîé ïåòëè.

Îí ðâåò íà ñåáÿ è íàãðóçêè âäâîéíå,
Ýõ, òîæå ìíå, ëåò÷èê-àññ!
Íî ñíîâà ïðèõîäèòñÿ ñëóøàòüñÿ ìíå
È ýòî â ïîñëåäíèé ðàç.

ß áîëüøå íå áóäó ïîêîðíûì, êëÿíóñü,
Óæ ëó÷øå ëåæàòü íà çåìëå.
Íî ÷òî æ îí íå ñëûøèò êàê áåñèòñÿ ïóëüñ?
Áåíçèí, ìîÿ êðîâü íà íóëå!

Òåðïåíüþ ìàøèíû áûâàåò ïðåäåë,
È âðåìÿ åãî èñòåêëî.
È òîò, êîòîðûé âî ìíå ñèäåë,
Âäðóã òêíóëñÿ ëèöîì â ñòåêëî.

Óáèò, íàêîíåö-òî ëå÷ó íàëåãêå,
Ïîñëåäíèå ñèëû æãó,
Íî ÷òî ýòî, ÷òî?! ß â ãëóáîêîì ïèêå
È âûéòè íèêàê íå ìîãó!

Äîñàäíî, ÷òî ñàì ÿ íåìíîãî óñïåë,
Íî ïóñòü ïîâåçåò äðóãîìó.
Âûõîäèò, è ÿ íàïîñëåäîê ñïåë:
" Ìèð âàøåìó äîìó!
Ìèð âàøåìó äîìó!!!"


Yak - Istryebityel

Ya "yak" - istryebityel, mator moy zvyenit
nyeba - maya abityel.
a tot, katory va mnye sidit,
shitayet, shto on - istryebityel.

V etam bayu mnoyu "yunkers" zbit,
ya zdyelal s nim shto khatyel,
a tot, katory va mnye sidit,
izryadna mnye nadayel.

Ya v proshlam bayu navylyet prashit,
menya myekhanik zashtopal.
a tot, katory va mnye sidit,
apyat zastavlyayet v shtapor.

Iz bomardirovshika bomba nesyot
smyert aeradromu.
a, kazhyetsa, stabilizator payot:
"miiiiir vashyemu domu!"

Vot s'zadi zakhodit ka mnye "mesyershmit",
uidu, ya ustal at ran.
no tot, katory va mnye sidit,
ya vizhu, ryeshil na taran.

Shto dyelayet on?! Vot seychas budyet vzryv!
no mnye nye garyet na peskye.
zapryety i skorosti vsye pyerekryv
ya vykhazhu iz pikye.

Ya glavny, a s'zadi, nu, shtob ya zgaryel,
gdye zhe on, moy vyedomy?
vot on zadymilsa, kivnul i zapyel:
"miiiir vashyemu domu!"

I tot, katory v mayom chyerepkye,
astalsa adin i vlip.
menya v zabluzhdenye on vyol i v pikye
pryama iz myortvoy pyetli.

On rvyot na sebya i nagruzki vdvoynye,
ekh, tozhye mnye, lyotchik-ass!
no snova prikhoditsa slushatsa mnye
i eta v paslyedny raz.

ya bolshye nye budu pakornym, klyanus,
uzh luchshe lyezhat na zemlye.
no shto'zh on nye slyshit kak byesitsa puls?
byenzin, maya krof na nulye!

Tyerpyenyu mashiny byvayet predyel,
i vryemya yevo istyeklo.
i tot, katory va mnye sidyel,
vdrug tknulsa litzom v styeklo.

Ubit, nakanyetz-ta lyechu nalyekhkye,
paslyedniye sily zhgu,
no shto eta, shto?! ya v glubakom pikye
i vyti nikak nye magu!

Dasadna, shto sam ya nyemnoga uspyel,
no pust pavezyot drugomu.
vyxodit, i ya napaslyedak spyel"
"Miiiir bashyemu domu!
miiiir vashyemu domu!!!"


The Yak Fighter Plane

I am a "yak" fighter, my engine rings
the sky - my habitation.
but he who sits inside me,
considers himself - the fighter (lit. destroyer).

In this battle a "junkers" is knocked out by me,
I had my way with him,
but as for the one who sits inside of me,
I'm quite fed up with him.

In the last battle I took a hit in midflight,
the mechanic has stitched me up.
But he who sits inside me,
forces me to go into another spin.

From a bomber the bomb brings
death to the airfield.
it seems as if the tailplane (or stabiliser) sings:
"peeeeace to your home!"

Behold, from the rear a "messerschmidt" approaching,
I'm leaving, I'm tired and wounded.
but he who sits inside me,
I can see, has decided to make another attack.

What is he doing?! something will blow up!
I will not burn to a powder.
Puling out all stops
I pull up out of the dive.

I am the most important one, but behind me, well, burn me (obviously an aircraft's oath),
where is he, my wingman?
behold he filled with smoke, nodded and sang:
"peeeeace to your home!"

And he, who is in my little skull,
is alone and in a spot.
he has decieved me into making a dive
straight after a dead man's button.

He is forcing on himself twice as much pressure,
hey, I'm here too, flying-ace!
but again I must obey
but it shall be the final time.

I won't be submissive any longer, I swear,
it's far better to just lie on the ground.
can't he hear how the pulse is raging?
the gasoline, my blood, is at a zero!

There is a limit to a mashine's patience,
and that is past.
and he, who sits inside me,
quite suddenly hit his face against the glass.

Now that he's dead, I can fly easy,
I use the last of my strength,
but what is this, what?! I'm stuck in a sharp dive
and can't pull up at all!

It's annoying that I haven't accomplished much,
but others can have the good luck and fortune.
now it's my turn to sing:
"peeeeeace to your home!
peeeeeeeeeeace to your home!!!"