A little joke about Tibet
The hair grows to the waist. Will the general come back?
This gentleman is carefree, how can he expect mountains and rivers to be rustling?
At dawn, at dusk, my head is white and old.
The cold sword silently listens to the thunder, and the pike is independent and empty.
Lying drunk on the battlefield, you don't laugh, you honk the horn all night.
Evening guest Jiangnan, red rope knotted hair tip.
Reply:
When your hair is waist-length, I will return home in triumph.
Horses used to be free and unrestrained, and they were all young heroes.
The east is rosy, and the West Lake is foggy.
Holding a gun and fighting bloody battles in all directions, I vowed to keep the mountains and rivers beautiful.
There should be a day to come back victorious and spend the night with you.
I hope to die hand in hand, and I am willing to make a robe with my son.