Down you go, up you go,
The fox is running.
Fire in the front, water in the back,
It shakes with every taste.
Dense forest, lots of it,
Still can't find a hiding place.
All around is a weary chuckle,
A hunter follows in his footsteps.
- Oh, lumberjack daddy,
The fox is in trouble,
Hide me quickly,
I thank you a hundred times over.
All right, all right, you fox,
My shack is a good one.
But then I'll see,
What's the use of words, my good friend.
Dirr! durr! - here is the hunter.
- Hey lumberjack, what are you doing?
- I'm making a shadow.
- Where is the Fox?
Tell me, have you seen it?
- I had a chat with him.
- When did you see it? where is it? where?
- He wandered around here last winter.
- Hey woodcutter, your blind father,
Make a fool of your grandfather.
The hunter is running again,
He does not look at the pointing finger.
The knuckle finger pointed:
There's the ebugatta!
Dirr! Durr! - the hunter has
In the bush, he wanders far away.
- Whoa, whoa, not you!
Foxy, would you go?
Is this friendship, is this gratitude?
Has the promise gone up in smoke?
- I'm a fox, you called for me,
So thank you very much.
But with your finger you beckoned,
That you do not wish to do a grateful deed.
