Taking measures of precaution, And displaying no emotion, With a standard English nickname Mr. William Caster Fry, Wearing gloves all year round Not to leave the prints around In a Moscow guest-house there lived a foreign spy! In the dark he started working Through the streets and squares walking, Clicking something with a special infra-red nocturnal zoom; Later he would print a photo Where objects were distorted, Every thing we love and cherish looming ugly in the gloom! On his base a sculptured Lenin Looked and old shabby granny, While the Party Central Office looked a hut in dirt and grime; And the park where we are resting Looked so terrible and nasty That you certainly would take it for a landfill in its prime! Being active and persistent, Fry still needed an assistant; Lone spying’s rather boring, giving you no kick, no thrill! So a fella came in handy, Introduced himself as Andy, Fry would take him to a restaurant and involve him in a deal! Andy seemed a proper figure - Base, intelligent and niggard, He indulged in girls and beer - in these fields he was no goose! He was more than satisfying For the filthy job of spying - Anyone can fall this low if one drowns in the booze! Fry came up with no dilation: "Sunday start the operation! At 10.30 catch a taxi, then this taxi you will rob. Tie a driver with a rope, Make him think you need a dope, And the BBC will cover this event around the globe!" "Here goes the second mission: You attend the Exhibition, Meet a man with sideburns there, he will ask you: "Wanna pee?" You will answer: "I’ve just pissed off" He will give yourself a pistol, Friday evening in a suitcase bring this pistol straight to me!" And for this you’ll get a Lexus And a spacious home in Texas, Lots of dough, lots of creamers, you’ll be rich as one can be!" But this spy was unaware That the man he tried to snare Was a secret service captain working for the KGB! He’s a real meanness master, This infamous William Caster, But this time he made an error, couldn’t play his dirty trick! Now he spends his time in prison, Being put there for a reason, And in our guest-house now lives a peaceful Greek!
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2015
Edited by Robert Titterton