Во поле берёза стояла…

Little birch so lonely was standing. In the field the curly one was standing. Lonely, lonely was standing. Lonely, lonely was standing. No one can cut up birch's branches. No one can cut up the curly branches. Lonely, lonely was standing. Lonely, lonely standing. I'll go into forest for a walk. I'll cut up the branches for the stock. All the tree from the stock. All the tree from the stock. I will make from them three whistles. Then go home through blooming fucking thistles. Then go home with the music of my whistles. And go home with the music of my whistles. Yeah. Little birch so lonely was standing. In the field the curly one was standing. Lonely, lonely was standing. Lonely, lonely was standing. No one can cut up birch's branches. No one can cut up the curly branches. Lonely, lonely standing. Lonely, lonely standing. Yeah. Yeah.