Red flags are flying
Gorbatshov on the stage is waving
People are looking, wondering
Why Gorba is smiling
But Gorba has a plan
After this parade is over
Then perestroika will end

Chorus:
And then we all will be sent to the cold land
In the livestock cars we sing hymn to our homeland
To the cold land

Official language will be Russian
Centre will be "Dvigatel"
Väljas will be dissident
Kogan will be president
And behind the shithouse on the floor
Will be laying Edgar Savisaar
On top of Marju lauristin (both anti soviet activists during the time)

Chorus: ...

Once again Estonians can ride in livestock cars
Nothing to lose but much to gain
We will build a city where is the horizon and build Estonian Republic in Siberia...

Chorus: ...

(Internazi is a supporter of proletarian internationalism, a communist)

Do you know what color is democracy?
Not blue, nor black, nor white
We need to eat properly and mine phosphorite
This is possible only under the red flag

Who are YOU to raise your head?
You live on this planet only of our mercy
Thousands of you cannot defeat millions of us
And that's why your land belongs to us

R: What the fuck are you talking about? (i am an internazi)
You fucking Estonian! (i am an internazi)
Are you looking for a beating? (i am an internazi)
What do you mean you don't like Soviet authority?

Oh, you don't like Soviet authority?
Don't worry, your tribe will be swept from Earth
From Swallows we'll make a smoked sausage for Moscow
And wash it down with milk from a black, blue and white milk carton

Your land will be attached to ours for eternity
Do you know what color is democracy?
Red is our flag and red is the blood
Which will run from your nose if you don't fuck off!

Robi was a weakling, a fatass with glasses
Fours-fives (Bs and As) did not make his life better
When the majority of the class are athletes without glasses
Then it’s obvious that Robi’s glasses will be broken in two

Robi was a weakling, a fatass with glasses
When he opened his mouth, he got smacked along his teeth
And when Robi got beaten between many men
The beating of him was the will of the majority

Some men are always between the cartwheel
When the cart is the will of the majority
Some men are even crushed sometimes
Crushing is always a big mass’ depravity
And the will of the majority

Robert is a big nose with a big ass now
His will goes along with the will of the people
And guess if he remembers his school period still?
What did being the minority teach him?
Is he now for those who get beaten?
Does he take care of those who lie in dirt?
Oh no oh no life taught him
That you yourself have to scream with the majority

I accept the minority those who lie on the ground
I do not digest those who stand up leaning on the mass
I support dissidents those who think themselves
I don’t digest those who scream with the mass
I don’t digest those who go to the West to make money
When there are those who are working for a pay of hunge
I have to be for those who are between the cartwheel
I don’t have to care about the will of the majority

Occident: "sunset, West", Western Culture in this context

You know that every culture has it’s phase of rise and fall.
That which jumps high, soon will be flat on the ground.
We have the luck that within our lifetimes we can see,
how into dust will fall the Occident.

The last hours of the Occident are here,
in agony he still struggles.
Within the beams of his setting sun
I raise my glass and say: ta-ta.

It’s the last act of the post-modernistic play.
It’s the broken song of the post-humanistic swan.
The consumer’s paradise has consumed itself into pieces.
His bits will fall into the day before.

The last hours of the Occident are here
walking in a single file after us.
And we run away from them.
We don't deal with the perishing.

The last hours of the Occident.
Beautiful and dreadful set.
Evening has arrived at the Occident
and, you know, evening does not promise warmth.

What Europe meant for us once,
it doesn't even matter. It was, after all, sometime yesterday.
Now we look into the morrow and we do not know what is coming from there,
but something has to come, after all.

The last hours of the Occident are here,
in agony he still struggles.
Within the beams of his setting sun
I raise my glass and say: ta-ta.

The last hours of the Occident.
Some are in front, some are behind.
We will step aside from there
and we don’t know if we ever will step back again.