Check it out.

Boulevards drown in smog, streetlights drop their tears,

No palm trees here, homie, just the frost of fifty years.

From the Baltic Sea to the hills where the Trans-Sib ends,

Life ain't sugar candy, life is concrete making amends.

I seen the glitz of capitals, the rust of dead-end stations,

Where the local crew divides the world by their own regulations.

A smile is rare out here, and a word costs you a bullet,

If a brother hits the snow, we just cover him, no pulpit.

Shackles on the soul, but a cross upon the chest,

This Russian character, man, it ain't no righteous quest.

Frost is stealing breath, but it's tempering the steel,

Look me in the eye, homie, tell me how you feel.

Motherland, I'm your son, the prodigal, the black,

I'ma speak to you through this smoke that we can't put back.

Chorus — Soulful Sample

From the cold Urals to the Black Sea coast,

We are building future on the pain we host.

This is our cross, this is our endless plain,