Текст песни Олег Скрипка - Біда

I bore his misfortune
According to spring on the ice.
Cracked ice - the soul of the insulation,
Stumbling into the water gone,
And the trouble is, though hard -
And for the sharp edges of the detainees.

And that's the trouble with the order of the day
Looking for a light for me.
Next to it are a rumor rumors.
And I'm not dead,
I knew naked willow
Yes, even with quail quails,
And yet with quail quails.

Just Who I said to him,
My lord,
Just given me, given me to spill the beans.
And passion is not himself,
He went after me,
And the trouble with the rumor in the saddle of the detainee,
And the trouble with the rumor in the saddle of the detainees.

He caught me caught up,
A hug, arms raised,
And the trouble with the rumor in the saddle grins.
And he could not stay,
There was only one denёk,
And the trouble is forever barred the detainees ...
And the trouble is forever barred the detainees ...

I carried her trouble ...