Fields of the steppes, in crop – mushrooms,
Sweet bread ... and no grief.
I left Belarus,
That you were Born.
And quickly grew so in the Union
Fraternal republics where the grandparents
In trouble they sealed their bonds,
Now the customs are being kicked in the gut.
Yes that about the past... and about other things...
Waiting for the military enlistment office…
You have your bride (hot)
Three days looking for a matchmaker.
And the grandparents, who are you?
The Navy guy's got a mind
A bottle of vodka, fruit juice.
Not to convince in words: "don't you dare!»
Not sobering atmosphere,
The sailor was met once by a sailor.
This is how our faith was manifested:
It was not a mistake – a legal marriage.
She liked the mining town
And the cradle of the steppe winds,
And "Shanyrak" - not a spire overseas,
Yes friendly house, in the kitchen - "throne".
"And life is not a field..." – axiom:
Family, work, and business.
Where " the grass grows at home»,
The wife called the guests to the table.