The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Hippie Mystery" (Misteriya hippi) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

We're breaking free, no ends in sight,

The devil won't tell, the pig won't bite.

We're sons of our fathers, that much is true,

But prodigal sons, through and through.

We're driven by forces we can't explain,

No turning back, God knows, it's in vain.

Not to the state's embrace, nor its facade,

Nor to your doorstep, nor your sacred sod.

Lies!

Your everlasting diligence,

Lies!

Your impeccable existence.

Rot!

Your heart and all its chambers hold!

Inheritance be damned!

What's yours is not mine, I'm bold!

Burdens cast off, shackles torn away,

Bonds reduced to nothing, come what may.

No college, no university's hold,

No babes for mothers, stories left untold.

No more "sweeties" for daddies to adore,

Enough heartbeats wasted, we ask for more.

And somewhere, somehow, some of those dear dads,

Have pushed all their chips in, gone completely mad.

Enough squeezing the life out of our souls,

From January's dawn to winter's cold.

Your beastly morals, we toss them aside,

From one streetlamp's glow to the next we stride.

Down with

Your songs, your tales, your weary plight!

Down with

Your altar, lectern, burning bright!

Down with

Your conscience's gnawing, day and night!

All your fairy tales,

Blasphemous and old, take flight!

Squeeze your money, in your frenzied chase,

Just leave us out of it, for goodness' sake.

Your buying and selling, your ecstatic haze,

Fill us with nausea, disgust in a daze.

Amidst the overgrown, desolate lands,

Our home stands roofless, without walls or hands.

We're like outcasts amongst our own kind,

Strangers from different realms, hard to define.

Better to toil like donkeys, sweat and bleed,

Than breathe your air, fulfill your every need.

Than grow fat on your riches, we'd rather be free,

To hell with your superstitions, we'll never agree.

To tear down,

Everything you hold dear, we proclaim,

To curse it,

And seek something new, escape the game.

Who knows

What we'll find to replace this belief?

But our children,

They will know, their knowledge, a relief.

Soothsayers and fortune-tellers foresee,

Our downfall, a chaotic spree.

Well, we're already discarded, on the fringe,

Into the wheel of fortune, our sorrows we fling.

So come to us, McKinley, if you dare,

Into our enraged Sodom, beyond compare.

Aren't you a prodigal son, deep inside?

There'll be more of us soon, McKinley, don't hide.

No? Then we'll come to you, the tide will turn,

A reckoning is coming, for which we yearn.

Мы рвём — и не найти концов

Не выдаст чёрт — не съест свинья

Мы — сыновья своих отцов

Но блудные мы сыновья

Приспичило и припекло!

Мы не вернёмся — видит Бог

Ни государству под крыло

Ни под покров, ни на порог

Враньё

Ваше вечное усердие!

Враньё

Безупречное житьё!

Гнильё

Ваше сердце и предсердие!

Наследство — к чёрту!

Всё, что ваше, — не моё!

К чёрту сброшена обуза

Узы мы свели на нуль!

Нет ни колледжа, ни вуза

Нет у мамы карапуза

Нету крошек у папуль

Довольно выпустили пуль

И кое-где и кое-кто

Из наших дорогих папуль

На всю катушку, на все сто!

Довольно тискали вы краль

От января до января

Нам ваша скотская мораль

От фонаря — до фонаря!

Долой

Ваши песни, ваши повести!

Долой

Ваш алтарь и аналой!

Долой

Угрызенья вашей совести!

Все ваши сказки

Богомерзкие — долой!

Выжимайте деньги в раже

Только стряпайте без нас

Ваши купли и продажи

Нам до рвоты ваши даже

Умиленье и экстаз

Среди заросших пустырей

Наш дом — без стен, без крыши кров

Мы — как изгои средь людей

Пришельцы из иных миров

Уж лучше где-нибудь ишачь

Чтоб потом с кровью пропотеть

Чем вашим воздухом дышать

Богатством вашим богатеть

Плевать

Нам на ваши суеверия!

Кромсать

Всё, что ваше, проклинать!

Как знать

Что нам взять взамен неверия?

Но наши дети

Это точно будут знать!

Прорицатели, гадалки

Напророчили бедлам

Ну, так мы — уже на свалке

В колесо фортуны палки

Ставим с горем пополам

Так идите к нам, Мак-Кинли

В наш разгневанный Содом

Вы и сам — не блудный сын ли?

Будет больше нас, Мак-Кинли

Нет? Мы сами к вам придём

In Vladimir Vysotsky's song "The Mystery of the Hippies", a protest against the hypocrisy and materialism of the "fathers" - the generation building communism - is expressed. The lyrical hero is a rebellious youth who breaks with the past, seeking freedom and authenticity outside the system.

"We tear - and find no ends" - these lines convey the determination of the break, the desire for a new life without looking back. Hippies reject imposed values: "Your eternal zeal is a lie! A perfect life is a lie!" They see hypocrisy, careerism, and the pursuit of material well-being as "rot".

They renounce the "inheritance" - the ideology, the way of life: "The burden is thrown to hell. We have reduced the bonds to zero!" Hippies contrast themselves with the consumer society: "There is no college, no university. Mom has no baby." Their choice is freedom from obligations, from routine, from "bestial morality".

Instead of material well-being, they choose closeness to nature, spiritual quests: "Among the overgrown wastelands, our house is without walls, without a roof." They are "aliens from other worlds", ready for hardship for the sake of freedom: "It is better to work like a dog somewhere, To sweat blood later, Than to breathe your air."

The finale of the song sounds like a challenge: "So come to us, McKinley, To our enraged Sodom… There will be more of us, McKinley. No? We will come to you ourselves!" Hippies are confident in their righteousness, that their protest will resonate, that the future belongs to them.