When first I came to Kazakhstan,

I never dreamt of Lana Scan.

Or how on Earth it could ever be

That I would see myself in effigy.


Backstabbing cronies telling lies

I want to stab them in the eyes,

And ride roughshod upon their heads

As I set fire to their feather beds.


Rumour lies in gossip in pubs,

Talentless twats; that gets the rub!

Personal histories that leak like a sieve,

They wonder why no fucks I give!


Great times in Almaty City,

Going soon, mores the pity.

Svetlana I have to leave the area;

Fancy a stroll in Gran Canaria?


Maybe just take it on the chin,

Kazak clichés growing thin.

Lana Scan can you please tell me

Why I was barking up the wrong tree?

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