Try tysyachi rokiv tryvaye viina.
Smert pershymy lipshyh hovaye.
Chto vyzyv v boyu, tyh chekaye tyurma.
Vidnyni nevynnyh nemaye.
My vpaly v boyu, my buly molodi.
Pomstysya za nas, shche zyvi vorohy.
My zbroyu i chest zapovily tobi.
Haryachoyu krov’yu ty yih okropy.
Na sorok den vyp’yem, osvyatym nozi,
Osvyatym napalm, hai svitlishe horyt.
Chai spalyt mista, ministerstva, sudy.
Shche tysyachi rokiv tryvaty viini.