The Bowstring - Рисовая Поляна.
текст песни

I remember when the little I was
Grandfather always told me stories
about his beloved field. As he loved him
How much time he spent on him and how many times he already plowed it.
But love his story that I heard a thousand times about
The fact that he grew up on this field.
While my grandfather did not plant herbs on it. How the grass was growing there and it was time to collect it was the time to come to Uncle Police. And he began to ask my grandfather
what and how it grows on the field, but my grandfather was confused firmly told him
That my grass is not growing there, especially poppy and hemp, but ordinary
Rice glade.
Oh-oh-oh rice glade.

But ten years have no longer passed, but he left the field at me.
At first I did not want to continue these cases, but then I agreed all the same. And I plowed everything and pressed the grass and began to water it every day. And through a couple of weeks I came to me such crap with a test of my field. I showed all the documents but the policeman I told me that that
It is not legitimate to grow on the field with me. But I firmly told him that the crime does not grow here.
The rice is full.
Oh-oh-oh rice glade.

I have been a grandfather myself for many years
He began to tell his grandson.
That I have the best grass on the field
And soon she will become him.
I understood in response to nodded and
He supported all my imagination.
He waited until I told
And quietly began to expound.
That he will not say and conduct shows
His possessions. He will learn everything and an important person.
And for everyone and everything will have a fairy tale one thing that is simple
Rice glade
Oh-oh-oh rice glade.