The American removes his sunglasses and spits out his cigarette. His "Star Wars" T-shirt is proudly emblazoned with icons of Hollywood. "Well," he drawls "That's some mighty fine rhymin you've done there. If you're about done, I'll get this started." He nods to the DJ and the beat picks up. He raises the mike....
Such a shame that you came all the way from Mother Russia, Just for me to step up on this stage here and bust ya!
All the way up here, I'm on the moon, I can't hear ya; Rhymes colder than a gulag in Siberia. Look at your "country" full of lies and propaganda; Communists in charge with a dictator's agenda.
Trouble in your cities pushing people down with Stalinism; Not to mention you can't even synch your rhymes up with the rhythm! Is it cuz the KGB is watching every step you take? Making your ass paranoid with all their shady secret tapes?
From behind your Iron Curtain you can't even look at me; MAD gettin tense, threatens World War part three The way your leaders work, it's like they're cheesy comic supervillains We've been making bank on the free trade and oil drillin'
Man, don't even start up on that Cuban Missile Crisis shit, We did the exact same thing in Turkey and you threw a fit; Put me toe-to-toe I'll slay a motherfuckin Bolshevik; Take your rhymes apart so I can see what makes a commie tick;
Every spy you send is just a weapon in our arsenal, Double cross your ass, it's not just business, now it's personal; Pick yourself up Ivan, cuz it's time to run back home; Go call your boss about about your loss, I've wiretapped your fuckin phone;
You got a crock of weepy authors, and that's real swell; But I've got teams of Nazi scientists to bomb your ass to hell; Bitch, step into my country; behind every blade of grass; Is a patriotic mofo armed to blast your Ruski ass
I beat your style out, Red, you're speechless so I guess I musta U. S. Of A, bitch. Word to ya Mutha Russia.