Adrian Bryttan – author/composer, rapper and violinist, Katya Mischenko-Mycyk – graphics
Yo’ Putin, wazzup, you sick dick? Listen up! You
Think your fucking holy mother Rashka is hot? (*tfuu*)
Shit! no it’s not! You invade Ukraine, our nation, you
Insult entire world population – for you lots of
Pain and bad complication!
All your internet
Bee-otches (bitches) and green little homies gonna soon run for
Cover; you discover what a stupid mistake you make.
We teach you good. Listen close, you hood! This is
Kozak country, understood? Freedom grows here,
Don’t stick your nose here! Screw you referendum. No one
Buys all your lies, get lost! We’re united all together…
If you still want to stay here and linger,
We drag you out by the snout, show you finger! Just
Log on FaceBook, and better take look and read:
EuromaidanPR, see how things really are:
You Rashka peeps chewed raw fish deep in the swamps
You Asiatic creeps, damn right! Moscow love to
Crawl and kiss muddy boots of Genghis Khan, uh-
Huh! Didn’t fight… not too bright!… pathetic sight!
“Third Rome”? what the hell was that shit all about?!
LMAO, and now: “New Rashka”, WTF?
You must be smoking some bomb, dead head, idiot clown!
Rashka “Empire”? hah!, the joke of the town! All the
Stupid Lenin statues coming down – laugh and scream! Your wet
Dream to get your ass into Empress Kathy’s pants? Not a
Chance… hey, now we gonna make YOU dance!
(more Kozak dance music)
We sent a SMS to the Prince of Darkness
To reserve ‘Your Highness’ a well heated room… and Satan
Said “Post-Perestroika Hell is swell!
(The last Sultan you sent me is doing quite well) But
You and Moscow Patriarch would stink it up… so much, my
Devils would rebel.”
“Old Nick”, he won’t take you… (Lucifer has class!) Who
Cares about your Gazprom? – Hell don’t give a damn for your
The Super Bowl ring was lookin’ fly, bling bling, that you
Stole, you crook… You a nation of crooks. Look how
Rashka steals and lies, then spits in our eyes!
Moscow asiatics – you stole our name,
Kyiv, our Empire, pride and our joy – when
Our kings were monarchs and rulers in Europe,
Moscow only knew how to plunder and destroy.
Rashka, you killed Ukrainians by the millions,
Your Tsars, Emperors, Komisars, all hand-in-hand.
Medvedev, go wipe your filthy shoes on Moscow door,
Not in Kyiv. We show you how, understand?
(there are no missing verses, btw… i never bothered adjusting my numbering system during many revisions)
Maidan is just starting, you’ll piss in your pants when
Rashka will see, try to be democracy like
Ukraine. Then your ass will fly out the door. No more
War – here’s better opportunities knocking on your door:
Like in Kyiv, you can scrub and rub clean your pal
Yanyk’s stupid gold toilet bowls, see what I mean? A
Wonderful chance to advance and be liked, you’ll see an
Overnight spike in your popularity polls.
But let’s say you get fired – then you’re hired to to slice salo in the
Salons of Khreshchatyk – a narcotic for psychotics like
You and your cleaver you use to chop Crimea. Now you
Slice and dice pig fat for a fucking year. Good idea!
Chechnya: another place where EVERYBODY loves you! go
Dine with their swine; cause your gangster friends are pigs, that’s
Fine. You can roll in the mud with Zhirinovsky and Lavrov.
Hey, like working in your Duma!… exact same stuff!
(Hit that fiddle!) (exuberant violin dance music)
Our boys from Donbass throw a kiss your way, you’re the
Last one to say Crimea beaches not clean.
No one needs your casino. They pray you will
Play solo Russian Roulette with your loaded carbine.
BTW your YouTube song – it really sucked,
You’ll never sound like a real Kozak! (Kozak songs)
You play with your green men, and air force and sea men.
Don’t hate gays, exit closet -you not macho, no one buys it.
Coward, you punk with no life in your junk, who’s
Scared by a sweet little Pussy Riot.
LOL, we kick your ass back to Hell, to join
Adolf and Stalin, your fallen old friends. You
Dresden “Drecksau, Gottverdamte Schlappschwanz”, take your
Crap to Moscow, and never come back!
We have WiFi… ready to press “Send”… Don’t write
Date, cause we hate to have a calendar around. Hah, look
Up in sky: same moon for you and I… THE
END!, you prick! Put shirt back on, kiss your horse, read this
Letter, we have better adios…PS, no need reply:
“Leck mich!” (timpani beats) “Leck mich!” (timpani beats)
“Leck mich am Arsch!” …if you think that’s harsh, here’s a
Send-off you can’t miss: In Ukraine from town to town, all our
Pants… coming down – we are waiting for your kiss!