Текст песни МОЙ ВКУСНЫЙ - БОРЩ

Everything that grows in the Ukrainian city,
With love we generously served to the table.
And above all else in life, we thank nature,
When smokuyem just cooked soup.
He calls each afternoon to the house,
And the plate spreads soul.
We and the ears of soup do not tear,
When it flows like a song from the bucket.

Chorus:
Oh, my soup, smelling of garlic!
All the relatives at the table.
By borscht shot of Khmilna
She asks, and not one!

From all over the world to visit us leave friends
Bread and salt We meet them all.
I gathered around the table in a close circle,
Luna is rolling around laughter.
Our hospitality fills to the brim,
All believe that we in paradise live.
And to know the true soul of Ukrainian,
You have to partake of soup.

Chorus: (2 times)
Chorus: (3 times)
By borscht shot of Khmilna
She asks, and not one!
She asks, and not one!