Lyrics Во поле берёза… - Александр Пушной
Little
birch
so
lonely
was
standing
In
the
field
a
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
its
curly
branches
Lonely,
lonely
it's
standing
Lonely,
lonely
it's
standing
I'll
go
into
forest
for
a
walk
I'll
cut
up
the
branches
from
the
stalk
Only
three
from
the
stalk
Only
three
from
the
stalk
I
will
make
from
them
three
whistles
And
go
home
through
blooming
thistles
And
go
home
with
the
music
of
my
whistles
And
go
home
with
the
music
of
my
whistles
Little
birch
so
lonely
was
standing
In
the
field
a
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
its
curly
branches
Lonely,
lonely
it's
standing
Lonely,
lonely
it's
standing
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