Zajeb, zajeb

Luka Bulic · Other Songs - Luka Bulic

Fala, fala, falalala, falala, falalala

Vracam se zatvore tebi
u tvoje celije stare
vracam se zatvore tebi
i morat cu vratit pare

Zaheb, zaheb, ostat cu suh
bez racuna svih
zaheb, zaheb, imam par frendova
evo i njih

Zaheb, zaheb, prokleta bila Fimi Medijo
zaheb, zaheb, zbog tebe sam osjedio

Mnogo ljeta s Gornjeg grada
sebi sam se divio
i na racun ovog stada
kao car sam zivio

Vracam se zatvore tebi
ali kad odbrojim dane
mozda sam pomog'o sebi
i sakrio nesto sa strane

La, la, la, fafala, falala, fala, fala

Zajeb, zajeb

The narrator’s return to prison is presented as a bitter punchline to a life of borrowed privilege. He has to repay money, his friends are still around, and the old glamour of the upper town has collapsed into the prospect of counting days behind bars. The song names Fimi Media, making its target more specific than a generic tale of corruption: the lyric invokes Croatia’s high-profile political-finance scandal as shorthand for a system in which influence and money were closely entangled.

The repetition of “zajeb” turns the refrain into a public admission of failure, while the speaker’s former self-image as a king exposes the bravado that came before the fall. Rather than retelling a legal case in detail, Bulić compresses scandal into a caricature of someone who once lived well on other people’s account. No independent review of the song itself was confirmed, so its reception is not inferred. The satire works through reversal: the man who once looked untouchable now imagines the prison cell as the place he is destined to return.

This belongs to topical political satire, where a familiar melody or refrain can compress a complicated scandal into one memorable character and punchline. The lyric’s reference to Fimi Media grounds the joke in a real Croatian corruption case, but the speaker’s first-person return to prison is a caricature, not testimony. The satire works through a fall from extravagant self-image to bare consequence: yesterday’s “king” now imagines a cell. Its repetitive refrain offers the audience a way to participate in the ridicule, turning political anger into communal chorus without pretending to provide a full account of the case.