He speaks with hands,
calls his mother Mama
but she answered to Motina
in Vilnius
The cover beneath his boots
was cast in soviet steel
older than his accent
more honest too
"Don't-a stereotype us!"
he cries, clutching his chest
a man whose grandfather
ate grey bread in the cold
The Mobster update drops
He posts his outrage
His cousins in Kaunas
don't know what TF2 is
He's never seen Naples
He's never smelled the sea
But he's got the gestures down
God bless him
The manhole says CCCP
His hands say Bada bing!
His soul, somewhere between
says nothing at all.
He speaks with hands,
calls his mother *Mama*
but she answered to *Motina*
in Vilnius
The cover beneath his boots
was cast in soviet steel
older than his accent
more honest too
*"Don't-a stereotype us!"*
he cries, clutching his chest
a man whose grandfather
ate grey bread in the cold
The Mobster update drops
He posts his outrage
His cousins in Kaunas
don't know what TF2 is
He's never seen Naples
He's never smelled the sea
But he's got the gestures down
God bless him
The manhole says *CCCP*
His hands say *Bada bing!*
His soul, somewhere between
says nothing at all.
