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At Moscow, Sipping A Molotov Cocktail, 1
Behind the closed, and guarded, doors
of certain fine, exclusive, bars,
our titled Comrades---Commisars---
enjoy such young and pretty whores,
in smoke clouds from the best cigars
as vodka flows by glass and gallon
in repeitious toasts raised to Joe Stalin.
Yes, everybody's Uncle, Joe,
would just as soon shoot you then show
you any proletarian respect.
Thus many had to die, you know,
old Bolsheviks, the Party's Red elect
(with any others who might just object):
"Stand those sons of bitches up against a wall and blow
them out of History . . ." said everybody's Uncle, Joe.
