Skid or Skids may refer to:
Skid is a 1970 debut album by Irish band Skid Row featuring guitar ace Gary Moore.
In a straight flight, the tail of the airplane aligns the fuselage into the relative wind. However, in the beginning of a turn, when the ailerons are being applied in order to bank the airplane, the ailerons also cause an adverse yaw of the airplane. For example, if the airplane is rolling clockwise (from the pilot point of view), the airplane yaws to the left. It assumes a crab-like attitude relative to the wind. This is called a slip. The air is flowing crosswise over the fuselage. In order to correct this adverse slip, the pilot must apply rudder (right rudder in this example). If the pilot applies too much rudder, the airplane will then slip to the other side. This is called a skid.
The skid is more dangerous than the slip if the airplane is close to a stall. In the slip, the raised wing — the left one if the airplane is turning to the right — will stall before the lowered one, and the airplane will reduce the bank angle, which prevents the stall. In the skid, the lowered wing will stall before the raised one, and the airplane will tighten the turn, and the stall can develop to a spin.
Sick of immortality, we've sharpened all the razors
And the pets aren't going hungry 'cause they've never learned to feed themselves
Robbed of all connection to the world of creature instinct
We have no regard for anything that can't increase our comfort
Living hand to mouth with no arms to defend ourselves from entropy
Skidding to a halt upon a road that's paved with ulcers
Breathing in the skin that covers everything in layers
Like the silt in all the river beds, we're spilling past insolvency
Go on, put the knife down
You've been looking mighty grim, but there's no turning 'round
Go on, take the map down
Water takes us all away, and floats us till we drown
Lacking in intensity, despite our best intentions
Go from parody to role model in seven easy lessons
Boredom is the killer and we struggle to anticipate
Just how we will be vilified by future generations
Staring down the barrel that has leaked into the watershed
Concerned about our future infiltration of the market
So we look into the headlamp of the steam-engine of progress
As it turns the virgin landscape into air-conditioned cinemas
Go on, put the knife down
I've been waiting 40 days to hit that higher ground
Go on, put the map down
You've been looking mighty grim, but there's no turning 'round
[Solo]
Go on, put the gun down
Don't you know that we've been waiting so long to set a pattern for the higher ground
What a goddamn waste of a pretty good hand
The last of the race, now, the final land
It was all that we built upon, ripped apart
It... what we're drifting on
No way out, no way you'll ever bring it down
Though we floated round and round and round
Hoping that we'd see something that'd bring it round
No one, no, no, no one's gonna help us now
Go on