I've been here in America four years already
And lived in all her famous cities
can't understand the 'freedom' people have here
instead i'm haunted by nightmares of the future
When I arrived I figured out very quickly
You'll have to plow for every crumb of bread
Bankers and Ministers live well here
And the rest all try to live off each other
I came here from sultry Sokhumi (1)
Where by profession I was a caucasian thief
But i better had gone to dry in the Karakum desert
than sign myself this shameful verdict
When I arrived, I tried, wherever possible
To work in my profession as a thief
Everything was new to me, and carefully
I began to pick pockets with experienced hand
But I quickly got fed up with it
and instead tried to make a whole million (X)
So the cops put handcuffs on me
And took me to prison, where criminals go.
But geeze, I invited a couple of prominent lawyers
Who would even bail out the devil for money
So i came out all clean and innocent
I swear to god - of freedom, there was no trace.
I tried to part ways with the profession of a Jackal
Said to myself: Don't beg or ask.
And suddenly my conscience kicked in:
Hey, couldn't you drive a taxi ?
So I introduced myself to this hard labour
Grinded like a sucker, from dusk to dawn
And thus my conman pride took a beating
As if a bitch spat on me, I'll be damned!
What's all this talk ? let's say: I worked a crap profession
Just what had happened in this western paradise
over there I'd been a human, here a taxi driver
Who whored himself out on the asphalt
I was plundered, they simply didn't pay
And heaped abuse in english language on me
One time some bastard almost killed me
The taxi got hijacked, i went home on foot
Grinding the taxi basically isn't a bad job
You can make quite a decent dollar (3)
But for me to work in such a manner
It just killed my human dignity
I had halfway turned into an intellectual
But loved the women - is that so hard to understand?
In the taxi I was simply a living impotent
I couldn't raise my jacklift for a single lady! (4)
I dragged myself home, tired and broken
And fell into bed, still wearing my clothes
And again tomorrow, for some bad-tempered parasites
I was damned to get up so early
Like some devil, constantly engulfed in exhaust fumes
At night I dream romantic dreams
While I fiddle around in my own pockets
It's surprisingly hard for a thief to break the habit
It's time to take up the sinister craft once more
And again practice my 'special trade' (5)
I wanna live the way I used to, carefree in Sukhumi
And find my luck again, despite all.
I wanna live the way I used to, carefree in Sukhumi
And find my luck again, despite all.