Do Svidaniya! Posledneye Proshchay!
The Russian mums, have said a hasty goodbye,
and it will be their very last,
Their boys are much too young to die, their
lives have really quickly passed.
But Putin just wants to fill the gaps, with
pawns, and he doesn’t give a toss,
Yes, they are just his cannon fodder, he
really doesn’t care about the cost.
Just lives bought with a piece of tin, while
Russian son’s decay, turning to dust,
And a brand-new Lada car, that with time, will
break down, turning to rust.
The lads are being rushed straight to the
frontline, arriving in a day or two,
Comrades issued with rusty Kalashnikovs and expected to know what to do.
Thrown into the deep end, of the bloody
cesspool, compelled to sink or swim,
To hold the faltering line, even though the
chances of survival, are really slim.
The frontline is like a hungry beast, it
devours all the men who come to pass,
Especially the peasant farmers poor sons, and
the disadvantaged working class.
They have been told that it is a great
honour, to fight under the Russian flag,
Even though within the week, they are likely
bound for home, in a body bag!
The boys have bought Putin a little time, that
is all, that they could really do,
When it would be much better, if Putin’s packed up his army, and withdrew.
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