On the edge of the forest, in a warm hut, there lived three brothers: a winged sparrow, a shaggy mouse and a butter pancake.

A sparrow flew from the field, a mouse ran away from the cat, a pancake ran away from the frying pan.

They lived, got along, and did not offend each other. Each did his job and helped the other. The sparrow brought food - from the fields of grains, from the forest of mushrooms, from the bean garden. The mouse chopped wood, and cooked pancake cabbage soup and porridge.

We lived well. Sometimes a sparrow would return from hunting, wash itself with spring water, and sit on a bench to rest. And the mouse carries firewood, sets the table, and counts the painted spoons. And the pancake is at the stove - rosy and plump - he cooks the cabbage soup, sprinkles it with coarse salt, tastes the porridge.

If they sit down at the table, they won’t boast enough. Sparrow says:

Oh, cabbage soup, boyar cabbage soup, how good and fatty!

Damn him:

And I, damn it, will plunge into the pot and come out - that’s the cabbage soup and it’s fatty!

And the sparrow eats the porridge and praises:

Oh, porridge, what a porridge - it’s so hot!

And the mouse to him:

And I’ll bring some firewood, bite it into small pieces, throw it into the stove, and scatter it with my tail - the fire burns well in the stove - that’s how hot it is!

“And I,” says the sparrow, “will not fail: I’ll pick mushrooms, haul beans - so you’re full!”

This is how they lived, praised each other, and did not offend themselves.

Just once the sparrow thought about it.

“I,” he thinks, “fly through the forest all day, kicking my legs, fluttering my wings, but how do they work? In the morning, the pancake lies on the stove - basking, and only in the evening does it begin to eat dinner. And in the morning the mouse carries firewood and gnaws it, and then it climbs onto the stove, turns over on its side, and sleeps until lunchtime. And I am hunting from morning to night - doing hard work. This won’t happen again!”

The sparrow got angry - he stamped his feet, flapped his wings and started shouting:

We'll change jobs tomorrow!

Well, okay, fine. Damn it and the little mouse saw that there was nothing to do, so they decided on that. The next day, in the morning, the pancake went hunting, the sparrow went to chop wood, and the mouse went to cook dinner.

The damn thing rolled into the forest. Rolls along the path and sings:

Jumping gallop,

Jumping gallop,

I am a buttery side

Mixed with sour cream,

Fried in butter!

Jumping gallop,

Jumping gallop,

I am a buttery side!

He ran and ran, and Lisa Patrikeevna met him.

Where the hell are you running and in a hurry?

Go hunting.

What fucking song are you singing?

Damn jumped up and down and sang:

Jumping gallop,

Jumping gallop,

I am a buttery side

Mixed with sour cream,

Fried in butter!

Jumping gallop,

Jumping gallop,

I am a buttery side!

“Eat well,” says Lisa Patrikeevna, and she gets closer. - So, you say it’s mixed with sour cream?

Damn her:

With sour cream and sugar!

And the fox to him:

Jump-jump, you say?

Yes, how he will jump, and how he will snort, and how he will grab his oily side - ah!

And damn it screams:

Let me, fox, go into the dense forests, for mushrooms, for beans - to hunt!

And the fox to him:

No, I will eat you, swallow you, with sour cream, butter and sugar!

Damn fought and fought, barely escaped from the fox, left his side in his teeth, and ran home!

What's going on at home?

The mouse began to cook cabbage soup: no matter what he put in, the cabbage soup was not fatty, not good, not oily.

“How,” he thinks, “did you cook the cabbage soup? Oh, yes, he will dive into the pot and swim out, and the cabbage soup will become fat!”

The mouse took it and rushed into the pot. She was scalded, scalded, and barely escaped! The fur coat has come out, the tail is trembling. She sat down on a bench and shed tears.

And the sparrow was carrying firewood: he dunged it, hauled it, and let’s peck it and break it into small chips. He pecked, pecked, and turned his beak to the side. He sat down on the rubble and shed tears.

The pancake ran to the house and saw: a sparrow sitting on a heap - its beak to the side, the sparrow was filled with tears. Damn it came running into the hut - a mouse was sitting on a bench, its fur had come out, its tail was trembling.

When they saw that half the side of the pancake had been eaten, they cried even more.

Here the damn thing says:

This always happens when one nods at the other and doesn’t want to do their job.

Here the sparrow hid under the bench out of shame.

Well, there’s nothing to do, we cried and grieved, and began to live and live as before again: bringing food to the sparrow, chopping wood for the mouse, and cooking cabbage soup and porridge.

This is how they live, chew gingerbread, drink honey, and remember us.

Winged, furry and oily

N and at the edge of the forest, in a warm hut, there were three brothers: a winged sparrow, a shaggy mouse and a butter pancake.
A sparrow flew from the field, a mouse ran away from the cat, a pancake ran away from the frying pan.
They lived, got along, and did not offend each other. Each did his job and helped the other. The sparrow brought food - from the fields of grains, from the forest of mushrooms, from the bean garden. The mouse chopped wood, and cooked pancake cabbage soup and porridge.
We lived well. Sometimes a sparrow would return from hunting, wash itself with spring water, and sit on a bench to rest. And the mouse carries firewood, sets the table, and counts the painted spoons. And the pancake is at the stove - he cooks rosy and rich cabbage soup, sprinkles with coarse salt, tastes the porridge.
If they sit down at the table, they won’t boast enough. Sparrow says:
- Oh, cabbage soup, boyar cabbage soup, how good and fatty it is!
Damn him:
- And I, damn it, will plunge into the pot and come out - that’s the cabbage soup and it’s fatty!
And the sparrow eats the porridge and praises:
- Oh, porridge, what a porridge - it’s so hot! And the mouse to him:
“And I’ll bring some firewood, bite it into small pieces, throw it into the oven, and scatter it with my tail - the fire burns well in the oven - that’s how hot the porridge is!”
“Yes, and I,” says the sparrow, “will not fail: I’ll pick mushrooms, haul beans - so you’re full!”
This is how they lived, praised each other, and did not offend themselves.
Just once the sparrow thought about it.
“I,” he thinks, “fly through the forest all day, hitting my legs, fluttering my wings, but how do they work? In the morning, the pancake lies on the stove - basking, and only in the evening does it begin to eat dinner. And in the morning the mouse carries firewood and gnaws it, and then it climbs onto the stove, turns over on its side, and sleeps until lunchtime. And I am hunting from morning to night - doing hard work. This won't happen again! »
The sparrow got angry - he stamped his feet, flapped his wings and started shouting:
- We'll change jobs tomorrow!
Well, okay, fine. Damn it and the little mouse saw that there was nothing to do, so they decided on that. The next day, in the morning, the pancake went hunting, the sparrow went to chop wood, and the mouse went to cook dinner.
The damn thing rolled into the forest. Rolls along the path and sings:
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side
Mixed with sour cream,
Fried in butter!
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side!
He ran and ran, and Lisa Patrikeevna met him.
- Where are you going, damn it, in a hurry?
- Go hunting.
- What kind of damn song are you singing?
Damn jumped up and down and sang:
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side
Mixed with sour cream,
Fried in butter!
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side!
“You sing well,” says Lisa Patrikeevna, and she gets closer.
- So, you say it’s mixed with sour cream?
Damn her:
- With sour cream and sugar!
And the fox to him:
- Jump-jump, you say?
Yes, how he will jump, and how he will snort, and how he will grab his oily side - ah!
And damn it screams:
- Let me, fox, into the dense forests, for mushrooms, for beans - to hunt!
And the fox to him:
- No, I will eat you, swallow you, with sour cream, butter and sugar!
Damn fought and fought, barely escaped the fox, left his side in his teeth, and ran home.
What's going on at home!
The mouse began to cook cabbage soup: no matter what he put in, the cabbage soup was not fatty, not good, not oily.
How, he thinks, did you cook the pancake cabbage soup? Oh, yes, he will dive into the pot and swim out, and the cabbage soup will become fat!
The mouse took it and rushed into the pot. She was scalded, scalded, and barely escaped! The fur coat has come out, the tail is trembling. She sat down on a bench and shed tears.
And the sparrow was carrying firewood. He mucked it, trained it, and let’s peck it and break it into small chips. He pecked, pecked, and turned his beak to the side. He sat down on the rubble and shed tears.
The pancake ran to the house and saw: a sparrow sitting on the rubble - its beak to the side, the sparrow was filled with tears. A pancake came running into the hut - a mouse was sitting on a bench, its fur had come out, its tail was trembling.
When they saw that half the side of the pancake had been eaten, they cried even more.
Here the damn thing says:
- This always happens when one nods at the other and doesn’t want to do his job.
Here the sparrow hid under the bench out of shame.
Well, there is nothing to do, we cried and grieved, and began to live and live as before again: bringing food to the sparrow, chopping wood for the mouse, and cooking cabbage soup and porridge.
This is how they live, chew gingerbread, drink honey, and remember us.

Text only:

On the edge of the forest, in a warm hut, there lived three brothers: a winged sparrow, a shaggy mouse and a butter pancake.

A sparrow flew from the field, a mouse ran away from the cat, a pancake ran away from the frying pan.

They lived, got along, and did not offend each other. Each did his job and helped the other. The sparrow brought food - from the fields of grains, from the forest of mushrooms, from the bean garden. The mouse chopped wood, and cooked pancake cabbage soup and porridge.

We lived well. Sometimes a sparrow would return from hunting, wash itself with spring water, and sit on a bench to rest. And the mouse carries firewood, sets the table, and counts the painted spoons. And the pancake is at the stove - rosy and plump - he cooks the cabbage soup, sprinkles it with coarse salt, tastes the porridge.

If they sit down at the table, they won’t boast enough. Sparrow says:

Oh, cabbage soup, boyar cabbage soup, how good and fatty!

Damn him:

And I, damn it, will plunge into the pot and come out - that’s the cabbage soup and it’s fatty!

And the sparrow eats the porridge and praises:

Oh, porridge, what a porridge - it’s so hot!

And the mouse to him:

And I’ll bring some firewood, bite it into small pieces, throw it into the stove, and scatter it with my tail - the fire burns well in the stove - that’s how hot it is!

“And I,” says the sparrow, “will not fail: I’ll pick mushrooms, haul beans - so you’re full!”

This is how they lived, praised each other, and did not offend themselves.

Just once the sparrow thought about it.

“I,” he thinks, “fly through the forest all day, kicking my legs, fluttering my wings, but how do they work? In the morning, the pancake lies on the stove - basking, and only in the evening does it begin to eat dinner. And in the morning the mouse carries firewood and gnaws it, and then it climbs onto the stove, turns over on its side, and sleeps until lunchtime. And I am hunting from morning to night - doing hard work. This won’t happen again!”

The sparrow got angry - he stamped his feet, flapped his wings and started shouting:

We'll change jobs tomorrow!

Well, okay, fine. Damn it and the little mouse saw that there was nothing to do, so they decided on that. The next day, in the morning, the pancake went hunting, the sparrow went to chop wood, and the mouse went to cook dinner.

The damn thing rolled into the forest. Rolls along the path and sings:

Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side
Mixed with sour cream,
Fried in butter!
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side!
He ran and ran, and Lisa Patrikeevna met him.

Where the hell are you running and in a hurry?

Go hunting.

What fucking song are you singing?

Damn jumped up and down and sang:

Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side
Mixed with sour cream,
Fried in butter!
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side!
“Eat well,” says Lisa Patrikeevna, and she gets closer. - So, you say it’s mixed with sour cream?

Damn her:

With sour cream and sugar!

And the fox to him:

Jump-jump, you say?

Yes, how he will jump, and how he will snort, and how he will grab his oily side - ah!

And damn it screams:

Let me, fox, go into the dense forests, for mushrooms, for beans - to hunt!

And the fox to him:

No, I will eat you, swallow you, with sour cream, butter and sugar!

Damn fought and fought, barely escaped from the fox, left his side in his teeth, and ran home!

What's going on at home?

The mouse began to cook cabbage soup: no matter what he put in, the cabbage soup was not fatty, not good, not oily.

“How,” he thinks, “did you cook the cabbage soup? Oh, yes, he will dive into the pot and swim out, and the cabbage soup will become fat!”

The mouse took it and rushed into the pot. She was scalded, scalded, and barely escaped! The fur coat has come out, the tail is trembling. She sat down on a bench and shed tears.

And the sparrow was carrying firewood: he dunged it, hauled it, and let’s peck it and break it into small chips. He pecked, pecked, and turned his beak to the side. He sat down on the rubble and shed tears.

The pancake ran to the house and saw: a sparrow sitting on a heap - its beak to the side, the sparrow was filled with tears. Damn it came running into the hut - a mouse was sitting on a bench, its fur had come out, its tail was trembling.

When they saw that half the side of the pancake had been eaten, they cried even more.

Here the damn thing says:

This always happens when one nods at the other and doesn’t want to do their job.

Here the sparrow hid under the bench out of shame.

Well, there’s nothing to do, we cried and grieved, and began to live and live as before again: bringing food to the sparrow, chopping wood for the mouse, and cooking cabbage soup and porridge.

This is how they live, chew gingerbread, drink honey, and remember us.

On the edge of the forest, in a warm hut, there lived three brothers: a winged sparrow, a shaggy mouse and a butter pancake.

A sparrow flew from the field, a mouse ran away from the cat, a pancake ran away from the frying pan.
They lived, got along, and did not offend each other. Each did his job and helped the other.

The sparrow brought food - from the fields of grains, from the forest of mushrooms, from the bean garden.

The mouse chopped wood, and cooked pancake cabbage soup and porridge.

We lived well. Sometimes a sparrow would return from hunting, wash itself with spring water, and sit on a bench to rest. And the mouse carries firewood, sets the table, and counts the painted spoons. And the pancake is at the stove - rosy and plump - he cooks the cabbage soup, sprinkles it with coarse salt, tastes the porridge.
If they sit down at the table, they won’t boast enough. Sparrow says:
- Oh, cabbage soup, boyar cabbage soup, how good and fatty it is!
Damn him:
- And I, damn it, will plunge into the pot and come out - that’s the fatty cabbage soup!

And the sparrow eats the porridge and praises:
- Oh, porridge, what a porridge - crumbly, hot!
And the mouse to him:
“And I’ll bring some wood, bite it into small pieces, throw it into the oven, and scatter it with my tail - the fire burns well in the oven - that’s how hot the porridge is!”
“Yes, and I,” says the sparrow, “will not fail: I’ll pick mushrooms, haul beans - so you’re full!”
This is how they lived, praised each other, and did not offend themselves.
Just once the sparrow thought about it.
“I,” he thinks, “fly through the forest all day, kicking my legs, fluttering my wings, but how do they work? In the morning, the pancake lies on the stove - basking, and only in the evening does it begin to eat dinner. And in the morning the mouse carries firewood and gnaws it, and then it climbs onto the stove, turns over on its side, and sleeps until lunchtime. And I am hunting from morning to night - doing hard work. This won’t happen again!”
The sparrow got angry - he stomped his feet, flapped his wings and started shouting:
- We'll change jobs tomorrow!

Well, okay, fine. Damn it and the little mouse saw that there was nothing to do, so they decided on that. The next day in the morning the pancake went hunting,

sparrow - chop wood,

and the mouse cooks dinner.

The damn thing rolled into the forest. Rolls along the path and sings:
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side
Mixed with sour cream,
Fried in butter!
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side!

He ran and ran, and Lisa Patrikeevna met him.
“Where are you going, damn it, in a hurry?”
- Go hunting! - What song are you singing, damn it?
Damn jumped up and down and sang:
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side
Mixed with sour cream,
Fried in butter!
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side!
“You sing well,” says Lisa Patrikeevna, and she gets closer. - So, you say it’s mixed with sour cream?

Damn her:
- With sour cream and sugar!
And the fox to him:
- Jump-jump, you say?

On the edge of the forest, in a warm hut, there lived three brothers: a winged sparrow, a shaggy mouse and a butter pancake.

A sparrow flew from the field, a mouse ran away from the cat, a pancake ran away from the frying pan.

They lived, got along, and did not offend each other. Each did his job and helped the other. The sparrow brought food - from the fields of grains, from the forest of mushrooms, from the bean garden. The mouse chopped wood, and cooked pancake cabbage soup and porridge.

We lived well. Sometimes a sparrow would return from hunting, wash itself with spring water, and sit on a bench to rest. And the mouse carries firewood, sets the table, and counts the painted spoons. And the pancake is at the stove - rosy and plump - he cooks the cabbage soup, sprinkles it with coarse salt, tastes the porridge.

If they sit down at the table, they won’t boast enough. Sparrow says:

Oh, cabbage soup, boyar cabbage soup, how good and fatty!

Damn him:

And I, damn it, will plunge into the pot and come out - that’s the cabbage soup and it’s fatty!

And the sparrow eats the porridge and praises:

Oh, porridge, what a porridge - it’s so hot!

And the mouse to him:

And I’ll bring some firewood, bite it into small pieces, throw it into the stove, and scatter it with my tail - the fire burns well in the stove - that’s how hot it is!

“And I,” says the sparrow, “will not fail: I’ll pick mushrooms, haul beans - so you’re full!”

This is how they lived, praised each other, and did not offend themselves.

Just once the sparrow thought about it.

“I,” he thinks, “fly through the forest all day, kicking my legs, fluttering my wings, but how do they work? In the morning, the pancake lies on the stove - basking, and only in the evening does it begin to eat dinner. And in the morning the mouse carries firewood and gnaws it, and then it climbs onto the stove, turns over on its side, and sleeps until lunchtime. And I am hunting from morning to night - doing hard work. This won’t happen again!”

The sparrow got angry - he stamped his feet, flapped his wings and started shouting:

We'll change jobs tomorrow!

Well, okay, fine. Damn it and the little mouse saw that there was nothing to do, so they decided on that. The next day, in the morning, the pancake went hunting, the sparrow went to chop wood, and the mouse went to cook dinner.

The damn thing rolled into the forest. Rolls along the path and sings:

Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side
Mixed with sour cream,
Fried in butter!
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side!
He ran and ran, and Lisa Patrikeevna met him.

Where the hell are you running and in a hurry?

Go hunting.

What fucking song are you singing?

Damn jumped up and down and sang:

Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side
Mixed with sour cream,
Fried in butter!
Jumping gallop,
Jumping gallop,
I am a buttery side!
“Eat well,” says Lisa Patrikeevna, and she gets closer. - So, you say it’s mixed with sour cream?

Damn her:

With sour cream and sugar!

And the fox to him:

Jump-jump, you say?

Yes, how he will jump, and how he will snort, and how he will grab his oily side - ah!

And damn it screams:

Let me, fox, go into the dense forests, for mushrooms, for beans - to hunt!

And the fox to him:

No, I will eat you, swallow you, with sour cream, butter and sugar!

Damn fought and fought, barely escaped from the fox, left his side in his teeth, and ran home!

What's going on at home?

The mouse began to cook cabbage soup: no matter what he put in, the cabbage soup was not fatty, not good, not oily.

“How,” he thinks, “did you cook the cabbage soup? Oh, yes, he will dive into the pot and swim out, and the cabbage soup will become fat!”

The mouse took it and rushed into the pot. She was scalded, scalded, and barely escaped! The fur coat has come out, the tail is trembling. She sat down on a bench and shed tears.

And the sparrow was carrying firewood: he dunged it, hauled it, and let’s peck it and break it into small chips. He pecked, pecked, and turned his beak to the side. He sat down on the rubble and shed tears.

The pancake ran to the house and saw: a sparrow sitting on a heap - its beak to the side, the sparrow was filled with tears. Damn it came running into the hut - a mouse was sitting on a bench, its fur had come out, its tail was trembling.

When they saw that half the side of the pancake had been eaten, they cried even more.

Here the damn thing says:

This always happens when one nods at the other and doesn’t want to do their job.

Here the sparrow hid under the bench out of shame.

Well, there’s nothing to do, we cried and grieved, and began to live and live as before again: bringing food to the sparrow, chopping wood for the mouse, and cooking cabbage soup and porridge.

This is how they live, chew gingerbread, drink honey, and remember us.

Russian folktale