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Some folks are born, with pockets full of gold, Dacha on the Black Sea, never feel the cold. But when the babushkas cry, "We can't afford the bread!" They raise a glass of vodka and toast instead! It ain't me... it ain't me... I ain't no oligarch's son! It ain't me... it ain't me... I ain't the chosen one! Some folks are born, with friends in high command, Steal a billion, shake the right hand. And when the cops come knockin’, sayin’ "What’s this theft?" They take a bribe and quickly left! ‪ Some folks get high, on krokodil and lies, Rotting in a stairwell, staring at the sky. And when the doctor says, “Your arm fell off,” They shrug it off—"Eh, life is tough!" ‪ Some folks are sent, to die in frozen mud, Gun from the '50s, boots soaked in blood. And when they cry out, "Comrade, we are done!" The general says, "Charge, or I shoot you, son!" It ain't me... it ain't me... I ain't no oligarch's son! It ain't me... it ain't me... I ain't the chosen one!