Transit Moscow, 3: 50 am, The road and the sign and the rain, He sees the border guards Gaping at his tank, And says: Open that gate While you still can, I am the armadillo man. It does not matter What country you are in, Just stay here on base With your own kind, But he knew a patriot Needs a strong free hand, Now he's off to torch That red-infested land, Can't stop the armadillo man. High-gabled houses Loom through the rain, He's on course for destiny, With a whoosh and a whistle and a bang, Bye bye armadillo man. Least he went to see the other side, While other people never even tried.