no, no, what are you talking about, let’s better ask roman mikhailovich to sing songs about his landy, without scratches, and we are guys, not calves, not collective farm bulls, we are sladimirs, guys, on the slope of the mother river, and we from vladimir, guys, on the slope of the motoshki river, as soon as we give it, we give it to the accordion, these are the kind of men, these are the kind of guys who, if we give it, are good enough, father ! oh, you birch, my birch, my curly birch, my cutie, my darling, my sweetie, flying like gold, oh your birch, my birch, just like that. my new birch, my candy, lacy, i fell in love with you, i’m blushing, oh you birch, my birch, my uncut birch, my candy, my letenic, i saw through you, and you are mine, i sing and sing ahead, i eat salt.