The meaning of the lyrics of the song "And hello there, my respects..." (I zdraste, moyo pochtenie...) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

Good health to you! And from vodka, there's no escape.

I've come to cheer you up.

I'm a bold and seasoned lad,

I've seen many a place,

And for that right, I ask to drink.

I've been to Petersburg, Odessa, and the south,

To Kishinev, Magadan, and Kaluga,

And in Melitopol, I had to don a gown,

A clever craftsman, and a lucky devil, I am.

So, I decided to get married,

To fall in love with a girl.

And I decided to marry, my friends.

We started to gather for the registry office,

To sign the papers with her.

Suddenly, my wife appeared.

She yelled at me like a wild beast,

"I understand your tricks now!"

Mama realized that I was marrying a floozy.

A clever craftsman, and a lucky devil, I am.

Plates and forks flew through the air,

And busybodies gossiped amongst themselves.

Mama realized that I was marrying a floozy.

A clever craftsman, and a lucky devil, I am.

So, I ran away from them,

Never saw them again,

And decided to become a decent man.

I made friends with the police,

I found myself a job,

I had to endure troubles.

I sit at the police station, sunbathing,

And spitting at the ceiling.

I have food, drink, and sleep.

If you're a jealous Jew,

If you envy me,

You can come and sit next to me.

I say, as someone once told me,

Whoever sits at the police station is an honest citizen.

I say, as my own brother used to say,

A clever craftsman, and a lucky devil, I am.

A clever craftsman, and a lucky devil, I am.

Здравствуйте, мое почтенье!

И от водки нет спасенья.

Я приехал вас развеселить.

Зухтер1 парень я бывалый

Я увидел мест немало

И прошу за ето право пить.

Я был у Питеру, в Одесса и на юге,

У Кишиневе, в Магадане и в Калуге,

А в Мелитополе пришлось надеть халат,

А зухтер махтер их бин а-фартовый ярт2.

В общем, я решил жениться,

Надо в девушку влюбиться.

И решил жениться я, друзья.

Стали в загс с ней собираться,

Что бы с нею расписаться.

Вдруг явилась родная3 жена.

Она кричала на меня, как лютый зверь,

"Я понимаю ваши шалости теперь!"

Маманя поняла4, что я женюсь на блат.

А зухтер махтер их бин а-фартовый ярт.

Тарелки, вилочки по воздушку летят,

И менхетуним5 меж собою говорят.

Маманя поняла, что я женюсь на блат.

А зухтер махтер их бин а-фартовый ярт.

В общем, я от них смотался,

Больше с ними не встречался,

И решил порядочным я стать.

С мусором завел я дружбу,

Определился я на службу,

Цорес6 мне пришлось переживать.

Сижу у ДОПРе, загораю

И на потолок плеваю.

Кушать, пить и спать у мине есть.

Если вы еврей ехидный,

Если ето вам завидно,

Можете пийти и рядом сесть.

Я говорю, как говорил мине один,

Кто сидит в ДОПРе, то честный гражданин.

Я говорю, как говорил мой родный брат,

А зухтер махтер их бин а-фартовый ярт.

А зухтер махтер их бин а-фартовый ярт.

The song "Greetings, my respects..." by Vladimir Vysotsky is a satirical monologue of a lyrical hero, presented as a reckless rogue, a braggart, and a lover of drinking. He has traveled to many places ("Piter, Odessa, the south, Kishinev, Magadan, Kaluga, Melitopol"), everywhere posing as a "lucky" one ("zukhter makhter ikh bin a-fartovy yart" - a distorted Yiddish phrase meaning "he has more luck than playing cards"), but in fact, never finding his place.

The song ridicules stereotypes about Jewish families: the domineering mother ("mamanya"), scandals ("plates and forks are flying in the air"), colorful speech interspersed with Yiddish ("menkhentuhim" - matchmakers). The hero tries to get married, but his mother intervenes, having learned that the bride is not from their circle ("mamanya understood that I was marrying a blat"). As a result, the hero runs away from his family and starts a new life, full of "tsores" (troubles), but in its own way calm and well-fed, in a nursing home (DOPR).

Despite the comicality of the situation, the song also has a tragic subtext: the hero's loneliness, his inability to find his place in life, his desire to hide from problems within the walls of the nursing home. The final repetition of the phrase "zukhter makhter..." sounds no longer boastful, but rather bitterly ironic, emphasizing that luck never smiled on the hero.