Stoyit' verba poblyzu lisu,
U strichkach vsya, taka krasa.
Dovkola chodyt' kit hulvisa
I koyit' spravzni chudesa.

Pide pravoruch – sonce hriye,
Livoruch pide – vraz moroz,
V lisu... kacapy zachayilys',
I kozen druhyi – maloros.

Plekayut' nahluyu nadiyu
Krasunyu-verbu izvesty,
Spylyat', spalyt', a prach rozviyat',
I z nymy viys'ko i menty.

Ta kit murkoche: "Chuy vam v rota!
Skorish udavytesya vy,
Niz vchynyte otu merzotu,
Bo na storozi toy verby

Bohatyri stoyat' polis'ki,
Dniprovs'kych mavok omofor.
Molfary vsi, tatary kryms'ki,
I z nymy dyad'ko Chornomor.

Bo to nash duch, nash duch Vkrayins'kyi,
Nash rus'kyi duch, bo Rus' – ce my!
A ne irzya chuvashofins'ka,
Komuno-chochlo-moskali.

Chochlo-moskal – ridnya Koshcheyu,
Baby Yahy vin skurvyi syn,
Chochol prodaznyi vsey dusheyu
I druh yoho alkash-moskvyn.

Nam ne potribni oti pyky,
Brechlyve bydlo, vladnyi cham,
Duchovni pokruchi, kaliky,
Tabachnyk, Putin, Chynhischan.

Orda novitnya yevraziys'ka
I russkiy mir, impers'kyi sram.
Svoya derzava ukrayins'ka
Ponad use potribna nam.

Ne tilky dushu, tilo, rozum –
Use zyttya polozym my
Za nashu pravdu i svobodu.
Chay zhynut' chochlo-moskali!"