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Mister Dimitri was wrong, the USSR |
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Got a quarter of his ease in his arm |
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Three to five bonds, he bought the sons of the USSR |
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Telling them their destitution had just gone on too far |
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Mister Dimitri came to some old Russian town |
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Finding little desperate souls to be torn down |
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And as his camera lens falls down on the sands |
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A man stood still and all the silence of the USSR |
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Cried out "you're gone" |
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Mister Dimitri threw the bones of the boys out along the path |
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Never fooled once into thinking this could one day pass |
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And the sons of the USSR would come to his grave, that's a shame to all |
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And all the sons of the USSR would take them home |
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Mister Dimitri was caught selling tapes by the Empire |
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Saying the murders and films were the worst things they've seen in a while |
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And as the Italian men were taken in, questioned for all their evil and sin |
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All the sons of the USSR said they'd never be free |
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Mister Dimitri served 11 years behind the bars |
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Trying, finding other ways of perfecting the rape of retards |
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An as the prison gates opened up, all the angels on Earth looked up |
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Dreaming of ways to loosing their ways and heading underground |
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Mister Dimitri now walks the streets of the USSR |
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Like picking up a brand new camera and a bran new (???) |
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And as God looks down on his head, no brays, just blood, death and disease and still |
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All the sons of the USSR cried out to God |
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And as God looks down on his head, no brays, just death, disease instead |
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And all the sons of the USSR cry out to God |