cube in the spring stripes of piles there was a bachyl, then mane, our ancestral mother, evrrasinnya,arusian folk song, in the evening behind the river, in the evening behind the river, in the evening behind the river the song is pamuchyts, i will go out... i don’t know anything, i don’t know anything, i ’m not here myself, i’m going to the spring, i’m going to go. i haven’t forgotten my kuta, but yesterday my little ones sent me a letter saying that it’s developed, that it’s been developed, dear abyazza. zet spring kirmashka praadavat, if only the horse is a gift, and what’s wrong with it? oh my horse the horse, the horse is too busy, every pabava sells, oh my horse, the horse is too busy, and the huchey and the huts, don’t sell the weight for the kirmashka, but the horses are only us, and what kind of people are they? oh, my horse, my horse, the horse is well-dressed, every woman, please, you are the hutch and the huts, some of them are well-groomed, come on, let’s go. versh alesya badak. treba pamagchi susedu. this is where we go. we can do it right away. let’s face it, how we live