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The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Champion of an idea" (Borec za ideyu) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

An unexplainable cataclysm has occurred:

I was walking home on my quiet street -

When suddenly, capitalism brazenly drives towards me,

Its beastly face hidden under the mask of a "Zhiguli"!

I will not go through underground passages:

The screech of brakes to me is like a romance about three rubles -

Did I suffer and freeze in the year '17

So that a private owner could mock me in a "Zhiguli"!

He is not my friend, nor my relative,

He is my sworn enemy, -

The bespectacled private owner

In a green, gray, white "Zhiguli"!

But it's alright, I've returned to my old tactics:

I went underground - let them scold me for прогул!

Tonight, I punctured three tires -

It felt so good - I fell asleep without sleeping pills!

To break down the door - I bought a sledgehammer,

An electric drill - just you try and pierce the roof!

I won't let them tarnish our Soviet town,

Where they brew the golden beer "Zhiguli"!

He is not my friend, nor my relative,

He is my sworn enemy, -

The bespectacled private owner

In a green, gray, white "Zhiguli"!

I will not be punished for my sins:

In the mental hospital, I have won all the rights.

And I would put them against the wall, one by one,

And direct a loaded dump truck at them!

But soon I will make the car mine -

I have all the parts - and I'll quit my job:

I'll polish it up - and at full speed, I'll smash

It under the windows of the "Metropol" hotel.

No, something struck me - these parts are mine! -

I haven't slept enough, haven't eaten enough, only drank tea...

That's it, I'm going, I'm going to register it with the traffic police!

Oh, damn! - a "Moskvich" splashed me, the scoundrel!

He is not my friend, nor my relative,

He is my sworn enemy, -

The bespectacled private owner

In a green, gray, white "Moskvich"!

Прогул - doesn't have a direct English equivalent. It means skipping work or school without a valid reason.

Произошел необъяснимый катаклизм:

Я шел домой по тихой улице своей -

Глядь, мне навстречу нагло прет капитализм,

Звериный лик свой скрыв под маской "Жигулей"!

Я по подземным переходам не пойду:

Визг тормозов мне - как романс о трех рублях,-

За то ль я гиб и мерз в семнадцатом году,

Чтоб частный собственник глумился в "Жигулях"!

Он мне не друг и не родственник,

Он мне - заклятый враг,-

Очкастый частный собственник

В зеленых, серых, белых "Жигулях"!

Но ничего, я к старой тактике пришел:

Ушел в подполье - пусть ругают за прогул!

Сегодня ночью я три шины пропорол,-

Так полегчало - без снотворного уснул!

Дверь проломить - купил отбойный молоток,

Электродрель,- попробуй крышу пропили!

Не дам порочить наш совейский городок,

Где пиво варят золотое "Жигули"!

Он мне не друг и не родственник,

Он мне - заклятый враг,-

Очкастый частный собственник

В зеленых, серых, белых "Жигулях"!

Мне за грехи мои не будет ничего:

Я в психбольнице все права завоевал.

И я б их к стенке ставил через одного

И направлял на них груженый самосвал!

Но вскоре я машину сделаю свою -

Все части есть,- а от владения уволь:

Отполирую - и с разгону разобью

Ее под окнами отеля "Метрополь".

Нет, что-то екнуло - ведь части-то свои! -

Недосыпал, недоедал, пил только чай...

Все,- еду, еду регистрировать в ГАИ!..

Ах, черт! - "москвич" меня забрызгал, негодяй!

Он мне не друг и не родственник,

Он мне - заклятый враг,-

Очкастый частный собственник

В зеленых, серых, белых "москвичах"!

Vladimir Vysotsky's song "The Fighter for an Idea" satirizes a hypocritical and narrow-minded person who hides his envy and bitterness behind a facade of fighting a non-existent enemy.

The lyrical hero, a parody of a die-hard communist, sees an ordinary motorist ("a bespectacled private owner in a Zhiguli") as almost a fiend of hell, the personification of capitalism, with which he is obliged to fight. His "struggle" takes on absurd and even criminal forms: he punctures tires, wants to break through the roof, dreams of reprisals. At the same time, the hero does not see the contradiction in the fact that he himself strives for the same benefits that he condemns: he dreams of his own car, albeit assembled from stolen parts.

In the final part of the song, the hero finally almost reaches his goal – he has a car, but the object of his hatred shifts. Now it is no longer an abstract "private owner", but a specific driver of a "Moskvich" who dared to splash him.

Thus, Vysotsky ridicules not so much the system itself as human vices: envy, hypocrisy, limitations, inability to think critically and search for real, not imaginary enemies.

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