Мы взлетали, как утки

We flew like ducks with muddy fields :
Twenty sorties a day - much more fun !
We laughed with steam mist confusing .
And we were stuffed into the space to tightness -
Clouds overstrain , torn into shreds ,
Bullets were made of them canopy .

Returned secretly - without instruments , in the dark ,
And with a radio operator - gunner that hung on the belts .
In fuselage holes in the plane - hole.
And the skin - chills ; and jammed the wheel -
And he trembling and beat a tattoo on the hand -
As during the dangerous rooms in the circus.

Until now, it tickles your nerves -
But we sat down , careening sideways .
It seemed to us - the car does not want to
And it can not work for us.

Tomorrow me and the car in one blow tune
In emergency mode for all to see -
You do not finally knife thrust in the neck !
Will take off - there will be food : have a couple
We sit down , my friend, to the airfield -
Because I dare not leave you .

However, I am not born shit smell and intuition
In the two-faced odnokrylom my partner
Player that hides until all intentions .
But I wanted to spit on the burden will :
He has a limit - I do not have -
Let's see which one of us sings - who cry !

If there is a flight that is lived -
Both of us do not write off the reserve.
Who said that the machine can not
And does not want to work for us ?