Transliteration
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Zazurylys hlopci, yak teper prozyty:
Stolochyly ordy nashe rannye zyto.
V nebi – chorni kruky, v poli – vovchi zhrayi,
A v chuzyh kaidanah maty pomyraye.
Chto vrodyvsya vilnym – ne boyitsya smerti,
Za kohanu zemlju laden vin pomerty.
Do kativ nenavyst – to naipersha zbroya,
Chto rabom ne shoche – stane shche heroyem.
U boyah zorstokyh ran nihto ne lichyt,
Kozen z nas zahyne, yakshcho treba, trychi.
Bez shtykiv moskovskyh, bez drotiv berlinskyh
Zytyme shchaslyvo narod ukrayinskyi.
Ye v nas Batkivshchyna, bude shche Derzava,
Slava Ukrayini i heroyam slava!
