The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Once in a Moscow tavern sat..." (Raz v moskovskom kabake sideli...) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

We were sitting in a Moscow tavern one time,

When Pashka Lavrenyov showed up there,

And when we were all properly drunk - tra-ra,

He recruited us to go to the Sayan.

Chorus:

To faraway lands,

High mountain peaks,

To trails where even racehorses die.

No wine, no tobacco,

No civilized life -

Why did you take us, boss, let us go!

We were given large advances,

And wished a good journey.

They put us on a plane with half a liter of vodka - tra-ra,

And said: "To hell with you, fly!"

Chorus:

To faraway lands,

High mountain peaks,

To trails where even racehorses die.

No wine, no tobacco,

No civilized life -

Why did you take us, boss, let us go!

In a week we drank all the vodka,

A hungry ration began.

And then we started pouring into our throats - tra-ra,

Kerosene, gasoline, cologne.

Chorus:

The lands are angry,

We sit unshaven,

Sitting in a tent, dirty and damp,

No wine, no tobacco,

No civilized life,

So far from women and beer.

In our gray and meaningless life

There is often simply nothing to lose.

Life is sewn with a rough thread - tra-ra,

And at the end a sealing wax stamp.

Chorus:

And we walk drunk

Through the Sayan mountains

Along the trails where racehorses die.

No wine, no tobacco,

No civilized life -

Why did you take us, boss, let us go!

Раз в московском кабаке сидели,

Пашка Лавренёв туда попал,

И когда порядком окосели — тра-ра,

Он нас на Саян завербовал.

Припев:

В края, далёкие,

Гольцы высокие,

На тропы те, где дохнут рысаки.

Без вин, без курева,

Житья культурного—

Почто забрал, начальник, отпусти!

Нам авансы крупные вручили,

Пожелали доброго пути.

В самолёт с пол-литрой посадили -тра-ра,

И сказали: «Чёрт с тобой, лети!»

Припев:

В края далёкие,

Гольцы высокие,

На тропы те, где дохнут рысаки.

Без вин, без курева,

Житья культурного -

Почто забрал, начальник, отпусти!

За неделю выпили всю водку,

Наступил голодный рацион.

И тогда вливать мы стали в глотку - тра-ра,

Керосин, бензин, одеколон.

Припев:

Края сердитые,

Сидим небритые,

Сидим в палатке грязной и сырой

Без вин, без курева,

Житья культурного,

Так далеки от женщин и пивной.

В нашей жизни серо-бестолковой

Часто просто нечего терять.

Жизнь прошита ниткою суровой - тра-ра,

А в конце сургучная печать.

Припев:

И ходим пьяные

Через Саяны мы

По тропам тем, где гибнут рысаки.

Без вин, без курева,

Житья культурного -

Почто забрал, начальник, отпусти!

This song by Vladimir Vysotsky, "Once in a Moscow tavern we sat...", tells the story of a group of people recruited for hard labor in the Sayan Mountains. The song is filled with irony and bitterness, reflecting the realities of Soviet life.

The first verse introduces us to the characters and the plot's premise. In a Moscow tavern, a place far removed from romance and heroism, the recruitment takes place. Pashka Lavrenev, a character we learn nothing more about, "recruited" the narrator and his comrades, most likely taking advantage of their intoxicated state.

The chorus of the song is a cry from the soul, addressed to the "boss" who sent them to this wilderness. "To distant lands, / High peaks..." - contrast with the familiar life in Moscow. The phrases "Without wine, without tobacco, / Without a cultured life" emphasize the harshness and bleakness of their new existence.

The second and third verses describe the hardships of life in the Sayans. The advance is quickly squandered, hunger sets in, and the characters are forced to drink kerosene and cologne. The image of "grey" and "futile" everyday life conveys a sense of hopelessness.

The ending of the song is imbued with pessimism. "Life is stitched with a rough thread" - a metaphor comparing life to a crude, fragile product. The "sealing wax" at the end is a symbol of the inevitable end, devoid of hope.

The image of "racehorses" dying on difficult paths symbolizes the mismatch between human capabilities and harsh conditions. The characters, like racehorses, are left to fend for themselves, forced to survive in an alien and hostile environment.