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The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Prison rap" (Zek-rep) the performer of the song "Mikhail Krug"

My dad was a notorious burglar, always stuck to his trade - he'd treat the guards with booze and lecture me, he made:

"I wasn't much of a con back then, picking at my nose, I asked my old man then:

"Wouldn't it be better to stash some loot, save up for a getaway car, then hit the gas and shoot!

Maybe when you're old and gray, and the fire's lost its spark, you'll reminisce by the stove about the good old days.

But you choose to hustle for these fools, cooking up moonshine in the slammer, they live it up with their rubles, while we only have vodka to stammer!

You'll get busted for a week's worth of work, then you're back to breaking windows, heading straight back to the clink!"

To that, my father slowly poured himself a glass and, having a bite, said to me: "Listen, lad!

Whether it's Alfonse or a pharmacist, a tough guy, or a pickpocket, they're all at odds with the law, you think they do it for free?

Chorus:

Prison rap, prison rap, prison rap.

No matter what game they play, it all boils down to this: equal before the warden, be it a thief or a Mason.

You dream of fancy pants with your stolen cash, wake up, son! A little hash for the guards, and you're golden, you'll be back in a flash!

My old man soon ended up back in the slammer for some petty theft, but a safecracker took pity and took him under his wing.

Here's the deal: You set your eyes on a safe, and come evening, the hairy ones will open up for you, it's a piece of cake.

Such easy targets, it makes my head spin, what are my dad's tips? - Just some small-time stuff, nothing to it.

And you offer them cookies in their cells, bananas, pineapples, a pack of Camels? - Anything they want, it's a done deal!

Don't you worry, Sonia, we're on the move, such a haul would wake the dead, that's for sure!

The cops, of course, are running around, scratching their heads by the safe, while I'm here enjoying my dinner, they'll never find me now!

Chorus:

Prison rap, prison rap, prison rap.

I'll uncork a bottle, my buddies by my side, their Russian souls crave beer and vodka, let's get this party started!

Tonight, we'll paint the town red, sing and have a blast, tomorrow we'll handle business, and live to see another day.

Cops threaten us with a hundred, and we offer them a thousand! Even if our freedom is short-lived between these prison sentences.

Chorus:

Prison rap, prison rap, prison rap.

Prison rap, prison rap, prison rap.

Мой папа - цваный форточник и масти не менял,- поил центровых козочек и поучал меня.

Я в киче не особенно тогда ещё варил и, ковыряясь в шнобеле, я папочку спросил:

"А ты бы филки втыривал, копил на паровоз, потом пары спустили бы - и чистоганом сброс.

Глядишь - когда состаришься, и пень не задымит, на печечку завалишься И вспомнишь эти дни.

А ты для эих фуфелей - На пакши по котлам, они же водят румбели, Мы хайлом - водку ам!

Ты за неделю сшоркаешь, за что мотал бы срок, опять нагреешь форточку - И на кичман ходок."

На это папа медленно Налил себе стакан и, закусив обедами, Сказал ко мне: "Пацан!

Альфонсы с фармазонами, Жиганы, щипачи,- все не в ладах с законами,- Ты думал за харчи?

Припев:

Зек-реп, зек-рэп, зек-рэп.

Какая б масть ни чалилась,- клифты - один фасон: равны перед начальником и вор, и фармазон.

Ты мерковал бы парочой пантюшек, оторвись, сынок,- на румбель марочку, и на горшок пись-пись!"

Папаша вскоре чалился в кичмане за филки,- но медвежатник сжалился - И взял в ученики.

Такое дело датое: На сейф положишь глаз,- а вечером лохматые Откроются для вас.

Такие, бля, центровочки,- Кружится голова,- что папины сиповочки? - Колхозная блядва.

И им печенье в клеточку, Бананы, ананас, вам "Кэмэл" сигареточку? - Пожалуйста - для вас!

Не в кипешь дело, Сонечка, По шурику на ход,- да от такого шмончика И мёртвый оживёт!

Менты, конечно, бегают, У сейфа булки рвут,- а я-то тут обедаю, Меня-то не найдут!

Припев:

Зек-реп, зек-рэп, зек-рэп.

Я откупорю пробочку - а рядом кореша,- пивка хотит и водочки их русская душа.

Сегодня с загуделого гулянм и поём, а завтра дело сделаем - и снова заживём.

Менты пугают Соткою,- а мы им штуку - на! Хоть воля нам короткая меж сроками дана.

Припев:

Зек-реп, зек-рэп, зек-рэп.

Зек-реп, зек-рэп, зек-рэп.

The song "Zek-Rap" by Mikhail Krug tells the story of a conversation between a young man and his father, an experienced burglar ("fortochnik"). The son, still naive about prison life, naively suggests that his father "quit" crime: earn money honestly, buy a house, and live out his old age in peace.

The father, hardened by experience and cynical, ridicules this idea. He believes that regardless of occupation - be it theft, fraud, or "honest" business - everyone is equal before the law and the system. He teaches his son that one must take advantage of the weaknesses of "suckers" (ordinary people) and "centrovochka" (female guards) to live in prosperity and luxury while there is an opportunity because freedom is a fickle thing.

The song traces a romanticized view of crime and the philosophy of the "criminal world", where theft is elevated to an art form, and honest work is ridiculed. The father is proud of his craft and sees nothing reprehensible in it; on the contrary, he passes on his "knowledge" to his son, convincing him of the correctness of this path.

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