Lotz o good stuff I work on,
guns and grenades and rockets and things,
I live in an underground base in ol’ Moscow.
I live day by day, the vodka addiction’s a whore!
I’ve envisaged a truly great rifle,
a semi-auto beast, like a Tokarev times seven!
Hell! We beat the Germans in 1941, didn’t we, yeah!
Three million dead, we earned our Heaven!
We kept our Fatherland, under threat of Nazi!
Za Stalina! Our warcry.
Due to my design, my rifle sport!
I’m a great maker of things, evil or good!
I’m a Russian dissident, give me praise!
I’m sick of the oppression, the undue malaise,
I;m a humble gun maker,
with grits in his boots, and radiation in his heart!