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?
