Rocking, rocking the child
The pot is hanging on the iron
Cooking, full of porridge made of sour cream for the little child,
Father, he's sitting and cleaning the husks off the corn
Mother, she's playing the horn so beautifully,
Sister, she's sitting, spinning gold.
Brother, he's walking in the forest,
Hunts all the wild animals
If he's white, drive him here
If he's grey, let him get away
If he's brown around the chest
Then let him roam the woods.