V put' nichoho zbyraty ne budu,
Ye tyutyun i knyzky, suchari,
Des' pidu ya spokiyno miz lyudy,
Poklonyusya vechirniy zori.

Tak chodyly, mabut', svyatohory,
De zemlya, yak voloshkovyi klyn,
Tak pidu ya v polya neozori
I z pisnyamy odyn na odyn.

Poproshu sobi syl nebahato
Molodym i haryachym slivcem,
Shchob na ruky vsyu zemlyu pidnyaty,
Povernuty do soncya lycem.