Przemysław Gintrowski - Iwan Groźny

Glory to our Orthodox czar
To our Father
Ivan Vasilyevich...

These are not bloody streams flowing down the mountains
This is not the red sunnie shining in the sky
These are czar's oprichniks cutting down,
With axes, headies of our children.
Bojars' soulies were not enough,
Ours peasant, rabian were needed.
You are doing gloriously, Father
You gloriously chop off our, the poors', heads.
You tore up skin, you ripped tongues
You threaded on sharp palies
With living fire you burned bodie
You tired your own czar handie.
And to boyars, misters, for disgrace
You, czar Ivan, for your will
Hey, boyar daughters, krasavitze
You dishonoured them ladies-swans.


Glory to our Orthodox czar
To our Father
Ivan Vasilyevich...

Then, you Czar, the successfull boys
Our little sons, our good molodtzy
Uncountable how many of them you lost
For the cruel little war you drove.
There, you terrible Czar, they fought for you
Their lush headies they held out
For that you thanked us courageously
You ordered to oppress us even more;
And the one that served you the most devotedly
Then he died the most wretchedly,
And for blood, for tears and for our misery
We will praise you even more!
You, the great gasudar, we praise
Hey, you bright falcon, we cherish
Eternally, we will praise, we will love you
Because we are afraid no to love.

Glory to our Orthodox czar
To our Father
Ivan Vasilyevich...