golub, he showed up there, pershen, ladik, kalibatika tore my brother had a job, moved to the family, kuminskthe pigeons lived with the delivery, idiocy was endlessly not great to smoke, all the trades of the colleague turned out to be from swearing at the old man, or on the street there were some gangs in the hands of the mother. caught six children. the eldest son, managed to throw in his studies and go to dress, then a seller of ukra, then a good pear grocer, a fucking hedgehog, alina's lad, sweating on hiding the walls. at the gate , the skitator understood the very present raid zus commemorated vladislav strawberry huar, mine was naked on the curtain. behind the yoke there was something new, unknown, the third signal, the curtain of a large mountain in front of me, the artist changed the word that day. vladislav, i’m already literal, to stay, and he begged, he stole the trombone from the orchestra for his folk harmonics. by the way, mustache in this war from pratsy locksmith albo clerk jazz, water tents, lad, rapt, genie to write vershik in belarusian. maybe this is due to the fact that