Can I sign my own work? That’s a nay!
So, from now on, I must go as “Gray”?
You filch all my glory;
But watch out, cuz Gori
Will bring that sound in anyway.
GG
Stalin was from Gori,
That land was Russia,
And this is that story:
From a tumultuous Russia,
A tyrant tsar and his family,
World war brings chaos to its old capital.
Out is tzarism, in is socialism,
A bald man calls for capitalism to fall,
But that man falls as gunshots ring,
A short man with a bad arm,
Prior to this, a pupil of Christian study in Tiflis,
And now that man is in Moscow.
Known to his compatriots as Koba, Stalin and his NKVD show Russia who is in control.
Grains sold abroad, cash for capital goods brought in,
This Russia is not that agrarian land of old
Not far away, a similarly short man has a wish,
A wish for land for his volk,
Than land is Russia’s land,
Tanks and many millions go in,
“Victory is at hand! Two months!”
But that is a fatal miscalculation,
For any tank Fritz may bring,
Russia can build four,
And January in Russia is not warm at all,
Ask Paulus and his Sixth Army,
No food, nor gas, nor ammunition,
His army cannot hold at Stalingrad.
As months pass, Russia cannot stop
Not at Minsk or Rostov, not until final victory,
A total victory, crushing Nazi tyranny (but supplanting its own),
That victory would not last long for Stalin,
It is said that no man is an island
And it is not smart to call for a doctor if you say doctors had a plot to bring you down.
That is a story of a man, Stalin.