In America, this song appeared in 1943 and called it "Comin 'In On A Wing And A Prayer".
Composer Jimmy McHugh (Jimmy McHugh, 1894-1969).
Words by Harold Adamson (Harold Adamson, 1906-1980)
The song was popular in America, and President Truman even quoted her lines in one of his speeches on the war.
In our country, the song enjoyed no less popularity. The song's success helped arrangement Arkady Ostrovsky, skill of performers (in particular - Leonid Utesov) and, last but not least, a remarkable Russian text. Its authors S. Bolotin and T. Sikorski had to overcome great difficulties, in particular, to exclude the explicit mention of prayer and faith in God - it would not pass in those difficult times.
There are modern versions of this song.

Coming in on a wing and the prayer
Coming in on a wing and the prayer
With our one motor gone
We can still carry on
Coming in on a wing and the prayer

What a shot, what a fight
Yes, we really hit the target for tonight

How we seen as ??? throu the earth
Lot belove as I filds of a raid
Without spoofs to a fog
And I trust in the world
Coming in on a will and a pray

http://www.clipafon.ru/chizh-and-co/...8b6021574.html

In those days, our forefathers fought elbow to elbow. Crushed Nazi creeps on the earth, sky and sea.
Unfortunately, then the situation has changed. Governments have begun to divide spheres of influence.
Our fathers chased each other brains in Korea and Vietnam.
Our classmates looked at each other through the sights in Afghanistan, Angola and Latin America.
Heartily hope that our children will live in peace and friendship. It seems that while difficult, but it turns out.

 

Whoa I am just a vagabond, a drifter on the run
the eloquent profanity, it rolls right off my tongue
And I have dined in palaces, drunk wine with kings and queens
But darlin', oh darlin', you're the best thing I ever seen

Won't you roll me easy, oh slow and easy
Take my independence, with no apprehension, no tension
You're a walkin', talkin' paradise, sweet paradise

I've been across this country, from Denver to the ocean
And I never met girls that could sing so sweet like the angels that live in Houston
Singing roll me easy, so slow and easy
Play that concertina be a temptress
And baby I'm defenseless

Singing harmony, in unison, sweet harmony
Gotta hoist the flag and I'll beat your drum

 

This one just reminds of the way I was raised and how I live, open-minded and willin to hang with about anyone


Brantley Gilbert-Kick it in the Sticks
Welcome to the home of the hillbilly
Yeah baby
It’s a land of barbed wire, moonshine, whiskey
Park your car before you get it stuck
Go on grab you a beer
And get on up in the truck
It’s going down tonight
It’s all on me
It’s BYOB, and I got all we need
Yeah boy I’m bout to show me a city slicker
How to kick it in the sticks with the critters down on

Our side of a barbed wire
Money grows in rows
And if it don’t you’ve gone broke
So we
We hang out by the bon fire
Just some good ole boys having a dang good time
We crank it up down here
We get loud down here
Throwin down in the dirty dirty south down here
Be an all nighter with the hippies and the hicks
Jocks and bikers they all came to kick it in the sticks

So pop a top and drop a tailgate
Yeah we crankin up AC DC, hank, skynyrd, and George strait
Wheres the girls?
Bout to call em up
A little southern draw said "hey trouble whats up?"
It’s goin down tonight
Now there pullin up
We got the jacked up trucks slap covered in mud
Bikini tops and daisy duke denim
Hoppin out singin outlaw women down on

Our side of a barbed wire
Money grows in rows
And if it don’t you’ve gone broke
So We hang out by the bonfire
Just the good ole boys having a dang good time
We crank it up down here
We get loud down here
We throwin down in the dirty dirty south down here
Be an all nighter with the hippies and the hicks
Jocks and bikers they all came to kick it in the sticks

Hey boy hit this mason jar one time
burned you a little bit didn't it?
Ever been snipe huntin'
Come on

We’ll do a little frog giggin, cow tippin
How bout a little skinny dippin, bass fishin
Take it easy on the shine
Stay away from other boys women
That’s one damn good way for a man to get it wooped down
These boys tough down here
Get your ass tore up down here
And be an all nighter with the hippies and the hicks
The jocks and bikers they all came

On our side of a barbed wire
Money grows in rows
And if it don’t you’ve gone broke
So we
We hang out by the bon fire
Just the good ole boys having a dang good time
We crank it up down here
We get loud down here
We throwin down in the dirty dirty south down here
Be an all nighter with the hippies and the hicks
The jocks and bikers they all came to kick it in the sticks

 

His name is Stevie Vai
And he's a crazy guy
Last november, I recall,
He needed a spanking

He decided then
A female specimen
Would be excitin' for a night
To give him a spanking

Laurel was her name
She came to Notre Dame
He told me just the other day
He oughta be thanking
Her for the spanking

She was large and soft
And she beat him off
Made him drool upon his dork
And gave him a wanking
After the spanking

Hair brush!
Oh! what a hair brush!
(it's not that he requires grooming!
Guys with light blue hair never do!)

Then she did explain:
There's another game
That we can play with this device,
And then a banana!

It was slightly green
Vapors in between
Rising up to fill the room
And cook the banana

She said it was dry
Stevie won't you try
To drool a little drool on it
And grease the banana

Later in the dawn
Laurel carried on
She got right up and dressed herself and
Ate the banana

 

Evelyn, a modified dog
Viewed the quivering fringe of a special doily
Draped across the piano, with some surprise

In the darkened room
Where the chairs dismayed
And the horrible curtains
Muffled the rain
She could hardly believe her eyes

A curious breeze
A garlic breath
Which sounded like a snore
Somewhere near the Steinway (or even from within)

Had caused the doily fringe to waft & tremble in the gloom

Evelyn, a dog, having undergone
Further modification
Pondered the significance of short-person behavior
In pedal-depressed panchromatic resonance
And other highly ambient domains...

Arf she said

 

banana ..
surrealism or perversion?
or surrealism - is a legal form of perversion? attempt to justify the perversion?
it is legitimate?: "I'm not a pervert! I - Surrealist!
right?: "I'm not a moral pygmy, I - the big artist!"
I think pygmy - is no more than a fu...ing pygmy.
But here the name "Great Frank Zappa". Am I always lie?

 

Green hocker croakin'
In the Pygmy Twylyte

Crankin' an' a-coke'n
In the Winchell's do-nut Midnite

Out of his deep on a 'fore day run
Hurtin' for sleep in the Quaalude Moonlight

Green hocker in a Greyhound locker
Smokin' in the Pygmy Twylyte

Joined the bus on the 33rd seat
By the doo-doo room with the reek replete

Crystal eye, crystal eye
Got a crystal kidney & he's fraid to die
In the Pygmy Twylyte
Downer midnite
Pygmy Twylyte
Downer midnite
Pygmy Twylyte
Downer midnite
Pygmy Twylyte
Downer midnite

 

Dunno, it's about a rock star & a groupie so probably both.

Here's Frank's biography if you're really interested.

Spanking is on "Them Or Us" from the 1981-1990 era

Gadzooks! here are a couple of quotes from Wiki Jawaka:

"In this song, Zappa documents actual events which transpired between Steve Vai and Laurel Fishman as they were reported to Zappa at a breakfast meeting the following morning (according to FZ in The Real Frank Zappa Book)."

"Laurel Fishman (the female subject of the song) is a groupie that had followed FZ from the late 1960s onwards. This song is one of many in Zappa's repertoire that pokes fun at his bandmembers' sexual encounters with groupies. "

 

good old 80's ...

No, I do not laugh ..
it's just thinking out loud. And it is not about Frank. (Frank - wealth around the world. Hi like in your country, he is known and appreciated in Russia.) Actually, not only about Frank.

I remember 80's. The Communist Party forbade the rock - so every boy trying to play the guitar and participate in the group. It was a slap in the face of Soviet power. Rock bands proliferated like mushrooms.
Alcohol, promiscuous sex, stolen motorcycles and night fighting - the usual companions of illegal concerts. And an endless confrontation with the Soviet police. Fortunately, while we did not know about drugs.
In those days, to be "different" - it was a prerequisite. Were good any way: long hair, baggy bottoms, even the chain from the toilet bowl as a decoration. These guys were expelled from universities, were expelled from the Komsomol, and sometimes jailed.
They no were called "perverts". They were called loonies. Really - psycho. They were diagnosed with "schizophrenia", they were sent to psychiatric hospitals where they were slowly killed. Public protest against communism - it is a serious accusation. All of us play with fire.
But In those days in Russia there was no showbiz.

I look at the modern stage. I feel sick.
Those painted face - but in the eyes of no love and no rage. in their eyes lust for money.
Those bright clothes - but it's PR. Rehearsed and calculating PR.
But there are also new. Ass! They all expose their asses to the show. They are proud of their *******s - and men, and women. Their Ass - Pass in showbiz. Old fools and very young boys happy to talk about those who fu*k them in the ass. It's fashionable, it's cool, it is modern.

You know what infuriates me the most? This is what we taught them. The protest turned into a perversion. Shameless perversion. Perversion of the show. Against God and against man.
This is our showbiz.

Now I rarely see the old rockers, although many of them alive.
And the old Frank Vincent Zappa probably feels uncomfortable in his coffin.

 

Frank Zappa was (how do I put this?) - unique.
Someone you would call a free thinker, somebody who saw the world about 30 degrees off from most everybody else. A non-conformist. He was so non-conforming, that his music rarely got played on the radio. Most saw it as just too wierd, me included. But then, we need people like Frank to keep us loose.....