or not, mishchyna, our dear temple, jump from the skin.e new, stay young forever! dear old lady, our dear, you are our forest, and song and sleep, nishchyna, you are the father of belarus, remember the glory of the old age. budze shchastsi and uces krutsi mishina you will find it. shchyna, to the unbelievable kaleidascopes of the brightest rights of the most rosey adcennages and the thickest life of ours, we are jumping, the sir of belarus, and the skin song here is an adlustrated life assemblivaga, nepautornaga, and the skin fesse, sing the land dear, poisonously imknennya, marau, sick. my dear kuta, how dear you are to me, i have no strength to forget you. more than once i’m tired of the long life i’m soaking up, and that’s how the captain is leading me. a flock of little cats that jump, little wings of a vuzenka, abnyayashy cessna over the water, as a youngster i am in the hour of pooping, at the end of the evening rastava. to love our dear belarus, daddy needs roses. and in the lands to be, i mean the cyper, where i fly, the cranes dan