When it came to false names I had forty, Seven passports I kept on the go, There were seventy women adored me But I also had two hundred foes. But I’m not complaining! Much as I always tried hard, Much as I always aimed high, There was always some diehard Out to fight me who came by. Though my road may be weary and twisted And I earned words of praise on the way My obituary still won’t be listed In a small corner of the back page. But I’m not complaining! Much as I always tried hard, Much as I always aimed high, Some guy’d catch me off my guard Each time I tried to stay dry. Though I never once doubted that glory Was our Soviet people’s true fate They’ll not put up a monument for me In the square by the Petrovsky Gate. But I’m not complaining! Much as I always tried hard, Much as I always aimed high, I turned into a drunkard And I fell by the wayside. I sing songs about pickpockets’ lives with All their tragedy, drama and farce, But you’ll not see my name advertised with Those of popular cabaret stars. But I’m not complaining! Much as I always aimed high, Much as I always tried hard, I’d get caught and I’d pay my Dues with stretches behind bars. People say I’ll get out of this pickle. Give up drink? No, that can’t be my lot... Still they’ll not take the hammer and sickle Off our coins and put me in that spot. But I’m not complaining! So then why should I aim high, So then why should I try hard? I’m so muddled and dazed I Drink to work out the right path.
© Margaret & Stas Porokhnya. Translation, 2008