shchyna, to the unbelievable kaleidascopes of the brightest rights of the most rosey adcennages and thet 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 dance in the forest, the persistent pakodas of the day, because they are usually blessed. unsweetened, cannot be replaced with anything here and there. the woman of the skin at the warm home comes to you if you love belarus, our dear, you need to visit different lands, you know , then, where you call. kurururim byaas. why don’t i care, why