The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Life flew by." (Letela jizn) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

I'm from Rostov myself, but actually a foundling,

I could be from anywhere,

And if you, my God, don't give me away,

Then my Pig won't eat me.

I live - everywhere, now, for example, - in Tula,

I live - and I don't count losses or profits.

From my childhood I remember the orphanage in the aul,

In the Chechen-Ingush Republic.

They didn't ruin our children's souls,

They shared food and destiny with us.

Life flew by in a bad car

And flew out with exhaust into the pipe.

I myself did not know who I would be raised by,

I loved friends, guests, and hashish.

Now, at the drop of a hat, I grab a knife,

Which, fortunately, I don't carry.

Like a broken bush, I was blown by the wind,

I fed by the road, remembering evil, but also good.

I learned well the feeling of an elbow,

Which they put under my ribs.

I've been where others have been,

All those with whom I shared my fate.

Life flew by in a bad car

And flew out with exhaust into the pipe.

We were tempered in a frosty climate,

No one is denied anything there.

So the Chechens who lived under Grozny,

Headed from the Caucasus to Kazakhstan.

And there - Siberia - a paradise for barbers:

A gathering of peoples and unshaven lads,

Where there is a place for convicts, for Jews,

And unfinished Basmachis.

In Anadyr, we mined what we needed,

They broke our backs there.

Life flew by in a bad car

And flew out with exhaust into the pipe.

We drank everything, including polish,

And varnish, and glue, trying not to explode.

We fooled the stupid bullet with alcohol,

So, like, we can't be fooled by smart people?!

I drink vodka with nuts for fun,

Cognac with pilaf with Uzbeks, in their way - pilav.

In Norilsk, for example, in a hot shop,

We tried to drink molten steel.

We filled the holes in our teeth with gold,

I'll get old - I'll take it out - I'll scrape up money.

Life flew by in a bad car

And flew out with exhaust into the pipe.

What songs we sang in the aul!

How we jumped on the rocks naked!

Until I was turned away from the path,

I was considered a Chechen-Ingush.

Some got a knife wound,

Others - other things, and still others - the third third.

Siberia, Siberia - a land of hard labor,

Where there is a place to live and a place to die.

I used to have curls, but my curls were destroyed,

Seven spans from my bald head.

Life flew by in a bad car

And flew out with exhaust into the pipe.

Memories, if I just disturb them,

Always the same: "Help! Help!."

Here, Chechens are being beaten by Germans from the Volga region,

And the place of the battle is the city of Barnaul.

When it almost came to lynching,

I stood up for the highlanders, whose throat I was squeezing,

Both were not from here,

But they fought as if for themselves.

And those who pushed us to feats

Have long been lying and writhing in the grave,

They were all taken there in a car,

And the most important one - flew out the pipe.

Я сам с Ростова, а вообще подкидыш

Я мог бы быть с каких угодно мест,

И если ты, мой Бог, меня не выдашь

Тогда моя Свинья меня не съест

Живу - везде, сейчас, к примеру, - в Туле

Живу - и не считаю ни потерь, ни барышей

Из детства помню детский дом в ауле

В республике чечено-ингушей

Они нам детских душ не загубили

Делили с нами пищу и судьбу

Летела жизнь в плохом автомобиле

И вылетала с выхлопом в трубу

Я сам не знал, в кого я воспитаюсь

Любил друзей, гостей и анашу

Теперь чуть что, чего - за нож хватаюсь,

Которого, по счастью, не ношу

Как сбитый куст я по ветру волокся

Питался при дороге, помня зло, но и добро

Я хорошо усвоил чувство локтя,

Который мне совали под ребро

Бывал я там, где и другие были,

Все те, с кем резал пополам судьбу

Летела жизнь в плохом автомобиле

И вылетела с выхлопом в трубу

Нас закаляли в климате морозном

Нет никому ни в чем отказа там

Так что чечены, жившие при Грозном

Намылились с Кавказа в Казахстан

А там - Сибирь - лафа для брадобреев:

Скопление народов и нестриженных бичей,

Где место есть для зеков, для евреев

И недоистребленных басмачей

В Анадыре что надо мы намыли

Нам там ломы ломали на горбу

Летела жизнь в плохом автомобиле

И вылетала с выхлопом в трубу

Мы пили все, включая политуру,

И лак, и клей, стараясь не взболтнуть

Мы спиртом обманули пулю-дуру

Так, что ли, умных нам не обмануть?!

Пью водку под орехи для потехи

Коньяк под плов с узбеками, по-ихнему - пилав,

В Норильске, например, в горячем цехе

Мы пробовали пить стальной расплав

Мы дыры в деснах золотом забили

Состарюсь - выну - денег наскребу

Летела жизнь в плохом автомобиле

И вылетала с выхлопом в трубу

Какие песни пели мы в ауле!

Как прыгали по скалам нагишом!

Пока меня с пути на завернули

Писался я чечено-ингушом

Одним досталась рана ножевая

Другим - дела другие, ну а третьим - третья треть.

Сибирь, Сибирь - держава бичевая,

Где есть где жить и есть где помереть

Я был кудряв, но кудри истребили

Семь пядей из-за лысины во лбу

Летела жизнь в плохом автомобиле

И вылетела с выхлопом в трубу

Воспоминанья только потревожь я

Всегда одно: "На помощь! Караул!."

Вот бьют чеченов немцы из Поволжья

А место битвы - город Барнаул

Когда дошло почти до самосуда

Я встал горой за горцев, чье-то горло теребя,

Те и другие были не отсюда

Но воевали, словно за себя

А те, кто нас на подвиги подбили

Давно лежат и корчатся в гробу,

Их всех свезли туда в автомобиле

А самый главный - вылетел в трубу

In his song "Life Flew By," Vladimir Vysotsky paints a portrait of a lyrical hero who has walked a difficult life path, full of hardship, wandering, and dangerous adventures. The hero is a collective image of a person hardened by harsh realities, surviving repression, deportation, and deprivation.

From the very first lines, we encounter a man with an undefined past, a "foundling," unaware of his roots. The hero's childhood unfolds in an orphanage in Checheno-Ingushetia, amongst deported peoples. Despite the harsh conditions, the hero retains gratitude for those who shared "food and fate" with him.

The hero's life is compared to a "bad car" hurtling at high speed towards an inevitable end. This image becomes a metaphor for the fleeting nature, danger, and unpredictability of life.

The hero finds himself caught in a whirlwind of events: wandering across the country, encounters with the criminal world, знакомство with various segments of society – from prisoners and "Basmachi" to the "unshorn toughs" of Siberia. He experiences true friendship, camaraderie, but also betrayal, cruelty, and injustice.

Vysotsky uses hyperbole and grotesqueness, describing drunken feasts and desperate revelry that mask inner pain and despair. The hero seeks oblivion in alcohol, attempting to drown out memories of a difficult past.

The song raises the theme of ethnic conflicts, injustice, and lawlessness. The hero is drawn into a fight between "Chechens" and "Germans from the Volga region," defending those closer to his heart.

The song's finale is tragic. The lyrical hero is left alone, having lost friends and loved ones who "have long been lying and writhing in their graves." Their lives, like his own, are likened to a swift flight "in a bad car" abruptly cut short.