Oy ty, dube kucheryavyi,
Lyst na tobi ryasnyi.
Ty kozache chornobryvyi,
Slova z tvoyi krasni.

Slova tvoyi prekrasniyi,
No chortova dumka.
Poky-m tebe ne lyubyla,
Bula-m, yak holubka.

Bula z by ya holubkoyu,
Poletila v pole,
Sila-m sobi kray dorohy,
Hore z meni, hore!

Nayshla z bo ya kubelechko,
De vutka neset'sya.
Chuyu z bo ya mezy lyudy –
Vrazyi syn smiyet'sya.

Smiysya, smiysya, vrazyi synu,
Za smich tobi bude –
Izhynesh ty na pisochku,
De vody ne bude.

Choch ya tobi ne dam lycha,
To dast' moya titka,
Izisochnesh, iziv’yanesh,
Yak rutyana kvitka.

Choch ya tobi ne dam lycha,
Dadut' tobi lyudy,
Bude tryasty sim lit tryascya,
A smerti ne bude.