Pochuly plach z Chernechoyi hory,
Vidchuly prysmak hirkoho polynu
I, yak chuby, schylyly prapory,
Koly poklaly Ukrayinu v domovynu.
Pekelnym syayvom svityat'sya chresty,
Potvory rozpovzayut'sya po chatach,
I vze niyake "Hospody prosty"
Ne zmoze vryatuvaty ridnu matir.

Pryspiv:
U vichi chas nam dyvyt'sya, bratove,
Bida i smert' stoyat' bilya vorit,
Chay v dushu zapade ostannye slovo:
Yednaymosya, bo vymyraye rid!
Yednaymosya, shchob vryatuvaty rid!

V muzeynych eksponatach bulava
Ostannoho, chto vyishov iz pokory,
Bezridni yanychary-tatarva,
Yak vorony klyuyemo chorne hore.
I pidrostaye moloda orda,
Zaplidnena bezridyam i bezchestyam,
I chy znaydet'sya nam zyva voda?
Chy Ukrayina znovu nam voskresne?

Pryspiv

Chay v dushu zapade ostannye slovo:
Yednaymosya, bo vymyraye rid!
Yednaymosya!