He's leaving Almaty, so let's have a party.
His best days are over, he's ready to go.
His wrinkles are showing, his beer belly's growing.
His horn has stopped blowing.
He's all screwed up now. (CHORUS)

We marveled to witness, his standard of fitness.
He suffered no ailments, not even the croup.
But from self-abuse, and living too loose.
His knees are a wreck and his bits now they droop.

He came full of purpose, but now he is surplus.
He was full of ideas, no one could compare.
Now his skills are outdated, his job's automated.
He's now on the scrap heap, he's simply a spare.
(REPEAT CHORUS)

Sung for departing hashers.