Hiding himself of annoying fame,
In one of the United states,
In deepest rurals of alien to us (govt.) systems
There lived a known, more known than Judas,
A living creation of the Hollywood -
An actor, the James Void, a spy, the 007 agent.

And thus, this very guy -
He is a star, not more not less, -
So popular,
It would be frightening to say out loud.

Put jokes aside -
An almost the halfgod!
So that the widely known Marchello
In a comparison to him - is just a pup.

He is on his own, on his own country villa
Was hiding, avoiding the set ups,
And was dying of tedium and gloom.
Used to be met on apartment’s doorstep -
Attacked and ripped to souvenirs
Even last pants and the only jacket.

That was a living, like in cage,
Yet in the movies - he’d been sweating:
Various spy agencies
Were mocked and fooled, as per his wish.

Walking in someone’s disguise,
Sleeping in the ashtrays,
Also, with the help of a lampshade,
Seducing someone from time to time.

And so this actor - the James Bond -
By our comrades from the (soviet) Cinema Foundation
Has been invited for a modern joint movie, -
Evading the mass recognition by citizens,
He decided to arrive dressed up in a blanket:
Reasoning it’ll be ripped apart anyway (for souvenirs).

Think about it yourself:
During long farewells in USA,
All the hippies who had hair
Have shaven their hair off.

His sweater was ripped off from him,
His watch were bitten off
And the dismounted concrete plates
From landing pad were snatched as well.

And thus, stepping down the ramp ladder
Giving a Dollar to the carry boy
And coverting his identity on the go,
When suddnely! Someone stops on "GAZ" nearby the agent
And - shoving a film reel instead of the documents (to his eyes):
"Hey, err, dis is us, uhm, houd do u doo!"

A huge escort convoy of cars
Is parked among itself, -
But greeting for a champion (athlete)
Of skeet shooting.

(Who) Managed to land the shots just at everything,
With his fastest hand, -
All went crazy for him,
And even men.

Content for not being recognized,
He’d taken off the blanket at "National", -
But disregarding of his look and accent
Was labelled as shag-rag beggar,
Who was pretending to be a foreigner,
Telling the tales of being an agent.

The porter is - kicking him out, -
So he decides to reveal himself:
"I am the 0-7!" - "For long-distance calls -
You were supposed to fetch the ticket!"

With foaming at his mouth
And bitter saliva, -
In taken pose of superman
He sat before the window.

Finally, the sidekick moviepawns arrived
And smoothed the issue,
And changed the british pounds to the roubles.
... The cleaning lady grumbled: "What a rascal!
What a knave - some petty agent!
At 9th (apt.) - there is a whole prince from Somalia!"