My name is Nikol, a die-hard democratic zealot,
Who was whisked to power on wings of Velvet.
It was a paint by number Color Revolution — 1, 2, 3 —
With me cast as Armenia’s Mikheil Saakashvili.
All three of my names, first, middle and last,
Were as Russian as sour cream from an oblast,
So I grew a beard, wore camo and wrapped my hand
To imitate the iconic Monte in command.
Costume on and looking extra photographic,
I screeched a Russian slogan and jammed all traffic.
Soon, the sitting PM got a call from Mr. Putin,
And, the very next day, by God, they put me in,
A democratic leader which nobody chose
With a pocket full of IOUs from NGOs.
Now, I was positioned to fulfill my destiny
As Armenia’s own Volodymyr Zelenskyy!
But behind my demagogic rabble-rousing clamor,
The velvet was merely cover for a claw hammer…
Yes, the one I brandish before crowds of braindead dregs,
Threatening to smash people’s skulls and break their legs.
Abroad I’m a sniveling coward, a spineless wimp,
Downcast eyes and the posture of a jumbo shrimp.
At home, though, I’m a lion to my critics and foes:
I allow none to dissent, disagree or oppose.
I threaten to throw them all underfoot for all to see
Because that’s how you govern a democracy!
Whether I’ll win the next election, there’s no debate
Because I, Nikol Vovayi Pashinyan, am the state!
