| A gypsy told me a good groom:
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| Young, not stingy, sweet, handsome.
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| Guessed, did not say: where to look and what is the name,
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| She hinted that flowers live in His name.
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| Chorus:
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| Oh, Vasya - Vasilek, Kolya - Bell.
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| Oh, Hera - Dahlia, Pasha - Lopushochek.
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| Oh, Vasya - Vasilek, Kolya - Bell.
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| Oh, Hera - Dahlia, Pasha - Lopushochek.
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| The sun burned in the sky, grass grew in the field.
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| She wanted to find a groom and searched as best she could:
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| Picked all the flowers along the road along the way
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| And weaving, weaving wreaths, tritatushki-tritati ...
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| Chorus:
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| Oh, Vasya - Vasilek, Kolya - Bell.
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| Oh, Hera - Dahlia, Pasha - Lopushochek.
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| Oh, Vasya - Vasilek, Kolya - Bell.
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| Oh, Hera - Dahlia, Pasha - Lopushochek.
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| Flowers do not grow near the house, they wither right on the vine.
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| I'm visiting the gypsy again, "Confess" - I say,
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| — “What kind of Name is this? |
| I'm not kidding with you"
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| - If she knew, she said, but for now I will keep silent.
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| Chorus:
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| Oh, Vasya - Vasilek, Kolya - Bell.
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| Oh, Hera - Dahlia, Pasha - Lopushochek.
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| Oh, Vasya - Vasilek, Kolya - Bell.
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| Oh, Hera - Dahlia, Pasha - Lopushochek. |