The meaning of the lyrics of the song "I was a battalion scout..." (Ya byil batalonnyiy razvedchik...) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

I was a battalion scout,

And he was a штабной clerk.

I was Russia's defender,

And he lived with my wife...

Oh, Klava, my dear Klava,

Was it really destined by fate,

That you would trade, you slut,

An eagle for such shit?!

You forgot your handsome husband,

Dishonored our bed,

While I, from Moscow to Berlin,

Marched over fascist corpses...

I marched, and sometimes in the hospital

Lay embraced by death,

And the nurses cried like children,

The surgeon's lancet trembled.

It trembled, and my neighbor - a tough guy,

A colonel and twice a Hero,

He cried, covering himself with a blanket,

With heavy frontline tears.

With frontline Guards' tears

The rifle battalion sobbed,

When I, with a Hero's star,

Was awarded by the marshal.

And soon they gave me prostheses

And immediately sent me to the rear...

Beautiful, large tears

The conductor on the special train shed.

He shed tears, the dog,

But still ripped me off a quarter!

I couldn't stand it, I started crying myself,

"Well," I thought, "damn you all!"

Robbers, scum of the rear,

How does our land bear you!

I realized that many a grave

Will come from my crutch.

I burst into my home like a bullet

And rushed to embrace Klava,

I enjoyed my wife's body,

Put my prosthesis under the bed...

My iron shard hurts

And cuts my bladder,

I reached under the bed for my prosthesis,

And there was that штабной clerk!

I beat the clerk's white chest,

Ripping off his medals...

Oh people, oh, Russian people,

My native side!

You see, brothers, I loved my wife so much,

My prosthesis wouldn't rise for her,

I beat her a little with my crutch

And said goodbye to her forever.

Since then, she's always before me,

Those beautiful brown eyes...

Pour me, pour me a glass of wine,

I don't have the strength to talk anymore!

Pour me, pour me some wine, quickly,

Mortal anguish is gnawing at me,

Support me with a kopeck -

Give me, friends, what you can...

Я был батальонный разведчик,

А он – писаришка штабной.

Я был за Россию ответчик,

А он жил с моею женой...

Ой, Клава, родимая Клава,

Ужели судьбой суждено,

Чтоб ты променяла, шалава,

Орла на такое говно?!

Забыла красавца-мужчину,

Позорила нашу кровать,

А мне от Москвы до Берлина

По трупам фашистским шагать...

Шагал, а порой в лазарете

Со смертью в обнимку лежал,

И плакали сестры, как дети,

Ланцет у хирурга дрожал.

Дрожал, а сосед мой - рубака,

Полковник и дважды Герой,

Он плакал, накрывшись рубахой,

Тяжелой слезой фронтовой.

Гвардейской слезой фронтовою

Стрелковый рыдал батальон,

Когда я Геройской звездою

От маршала был награжден.

А вскоре вручили протёзы

И тотчас отправили в тыл...

Красивые, крупные слезы

Кондуктор на литер пролил.

Пролил, прослезился, собака,

Но все же содрал четвертак!

Не выдержал, сам я заплакал,

Ну, думаю, мать вашу так!

Грабители, сволочи тыла,

Как носит вас наша земля!

Я понял, что многим могила

Придет от мово костыля.

Домой я, как пуля, ворвался

И бросился Клаву лобзать,

Я телом жены наслаждался,

Протез положил под кровать...

Болит мой осколок железа

И режет пузырь мочевой,

Полез под кровать за протезом,

А там писаришка штабной!

Штабного я бил в белы груди,

Сшибая с грудей ордена...

Ой люди, ой, русские люди,

Родная моя сторона!

Жену-то я, братцы, так сильно любил,

Протез на нее не поднялся,

Ее костылем я маненько побил

И с нею навек распрощался.

С тех пор предо мною все время она,

Красивые карие очи...

Налейте, налейте стакан мне вина,

Рассказывать нет больше мочи!

Налейте, налейте, скорей мне вина,

Тоска меня смертная гложет,

Копейкой своей поддержите меня -

Подайте, друзья, кто сколь может...

Vladimir Vysotsky's song "I was a battalion scout..." tells the story of the tragic fate of a front-line soldier who faced betrayal at home.

The meaning of the song lies in revealing the contrast between heroism in war and meanness in civilian life.

The main character is a war hero, crippled but not broken. He is contrasted with the "staff clerk" - an anti-hero, a coward who not only did not participate in hostilities, but also took advantage of the absence of a front-line soldier to seduce his wife.

The song is filled with bitter irony. The hero who went through the hell of war, awarded for his exploits, faces indifference and self-interest in the rear (the conductor on the train). The culmination is the scene of returning home, where the hero finds his wife with her lover.

Despite the tragedy of the situation, the hero does not lose his sense of dignity. He drives away his wife and her lover. The finale of the song is the cry of the hero's soul, who seeks solace in wine and the sympathy of the listeners.