Sold yourself for five thousand - that's your whole price tag,
You're sitting in Rust on a shitty server, you mighty slacker.
You sold your ass, thought you hit the jackpot,
And five grand in your pocket - no pride, no soul.

Torn black strap-on - a symbol of your days,
«Балтика Девятка» - the main dinner for bums.
On the server you're a clown, you get raided every day,
Your straw shack even looting it is too much bother.

Five thousand rubles - that's the price of your soul,
On a shitty server you shout: «Don't touch me, man!»
But everyone already found out who here sold out for a nickel, - You're not a survivor in Rust - you're a walking artifact.

Ass sold, strap-on torn, beer drunk to the dregs,
A wipe started on the server - and the base is demolished.
Five grand on the balance, your head is a solid fog,
You sold everything you could - only the clan is left to sell. 💀