Mamma,
Yakyi to s'ohodni den?
Ne vidsuvay shtor, bachysh, ya splyu,
A v nebi bahato pisen!
Bahato tyazkych not,
Bahato hirkych sliv.
Vze krashche vtykaty v nout,
Na paru dniv
Stulyty sviy rot...

Pryspiv:
I tut mene chap!
I tut mene chop!
A tam by shche takt,
A tut by shche... Stop!
Ya dumala nich,
Ya dumala den:
"Boze, za shcho meni stilky sumnych pisen?"

Mamma,
A chochesh – ne ydy,
Chochesh – skazy meni,
Zvidky u meni beret'sya az stilky tiyeyi vody?
Ya ne dorikayu,
Ya zovsim ne proty,
Ya prosto zapysuyu noty...
V nebi pisen,
Yak nashych z toboyu zym.
Ach, menshe z tym.

Pryspiv