Complain,
I am not a pianist.
Motherland,
because
I belong to you,
A spendthrift
Son of working people.
I am deeply
deeply
Love You!
I, uh,
But you can't,
Like a singer singing Marseillaise, (1)
Under the scorching sun,
Next to the barricade where the Paris Commune fought (2)
Pluck the strings of the lyre,
Let it spit out.
Shook the world,
The first song of mankind
The most beautiful song,
As me,
Here's to you.
Neither can i. /neither will i.
Riding on the back of an ox,
Play piccolo.
Neither will I,
On the threshing floor in August,
Raise the bamboo flute,
gently
Blow gently;
Let the flute ring.
Floating on the mud wall,
Fall in the shade of willow trees by the river.
however
When I looked up,
Seeing you,
My motherland's
High in the blue sky,
The vast wilderness,
The white clouds of that day
Wandering leisurely,
or
That little red flower,
smiling
Get up from a crack in the stone.
My heart,
How excited,
Like my hometown,
That Miao girl,
On a sunny August night,
With the beat jumping wildly,
…………
My motherland,
I belong to you,
Violet-black
Young soldier.
When I carry my back
That old "old Mao Se",
Walking across the plain,
I saw it.
The enemy's black turret,
And the turret.
Flying a bloody red plaster flag,
My blood,
It will stir,
Like a Commissioner
On the grassland with deep snow,
Like a big storm,
Rush in,
Soldiers of motherland athletes ...
Motherland,
With the milk of love,
Raised me;
And I,
With my flesh and blood,
Guard you!
Maybe tomorrow,
I will fall;
perhaps
At the time of slashing,
The enemy's gun tip,
Hit me in the stomach;
Maybe,
I will die silently on the gallows,
Or by the enemy
Into the kennel.
Listen,
That evil German shepherd,
Sharpen the tip of your teeth,
Spit in your eyes.
green light ...
Motherland,
Under the butcher's knife of the enemy,
I won't shed a tear,
I, Gao Xiao,
Because, uh,
I
Your extravagant son,
Your guardian,
His life,
I left you a song.
A lofty "compliment".
I sing,
Motherland,
On the loess pile where my bones are buried,
There will also be flowers of love growing.
10 August, the first draft was completed in Ba Du. Who said that?
How about "the north is very sad"
Don't!
My Jinchaji,
Your humble country,
Your rustic countryside,
Your land burned because of the war.
It's better than
Eden in the sky,
And beautiful!
Oh, you-
Our new Eden,
I sing loudly for you.
My Jinchaji,
you are
In the war
Newborn land,
You are our new countryside.
In every valley,
Is flashing.
The glory of Mao Zedong.
A low hut,
It is our temple.
Life revolution,
Man-God!
People are God!
My song,
it will be
The guardian's gun in front of Eden!
My song,
You,
Sing more tenaciously and forcefully,
although
My song,
Is rough,
No light ...
My Jinchaji,
Maybe,
My singing will unfortunately stop tomorrow,
My life
Torn to pieces by the enemy,
however
My flesh and blood,
it will be
Into fragrant flowers,
Drive on the road.
That flower-
Red stands for loyalty,
Yellow is pure,
White is love,
Green is happiness,
Purple is tenacious.