Вместо флейты подымем флягу...
Way down yonder, down in the meadow,
There's a poor little lamby.
The bees and the butterflies pickin' at its eyes,
The poor little thing cried mammy.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
When you wake, you'll have cake,
And all the pretty little horses.
There's a poor little lamby.
The bees and the butterflies pickin' at its eyes,
The poor little thing cried mammy.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
When you wake, you'll have cake,
And all the pretty little horses.