Prosty z mene, hospody,
Za ridnuyu movu,
Shcho yiyi zabuv ya kolys'
Poza inshym slovom.

Plachu ya, bo, o nash boze,
Yak taya dytyna
Z mist u sela starcyuvaty
Pishla syrotyna.

Pishla, ridna, ta y do stepu,
Shchob ne chut', ne zrity
Yak curalys' yiyi dity,
Yiyi ridni dity.

Sestru ridnu, titku yichnyu
Yak matir shanuyut',
A neyu nayridnishoyu,
Matir’yu, – hyduyut'.

Pidy, maty stepovaya,
Po selach pobidkay,
A my poky pid’yimosya
V zamoznoyi titky.

Titka vladoyu chastuye –
U choromy vodyt',
A shcho z tebe, stepovoyi, –
Odni pisni rodyat'.

Protry ze yim, hospody,
Durni ochenyata,
Zapytay: – chiba bahatsvom
Krasna ridna maty?

Nevze z pam’yat' treba sterty,
Shchob zyt' lehshe bulo?
Nevze maty musyt' vmerty,
Shchob my schamenulys'?