Stan Tutaj - W krainie latających siekier

Where the quiet rustle of fir forests,
Where the crowd of lowland highlanders,
Where the aroma of Bodeń wines
Is known by the father, mother, son,
Where berets and cotton jackets,
Pocket knives and ax handles,
And the steadfast tone of the oberka,
There stands our home!

In the land of flying axes,
Life is joyful for us,
In the land of flying axes,
The peasant invented the wheel,
In the land of flying axes,
It’s wonderful and pastoral,
In the land of flying axes,
Corpses lay thick!

Bald Mountain proudly dwells in the clouds,
And in the cottages, bundles instead of doors,
The wind blows berets off people’s heads,
You won't find peaceful sleep here,
The poor folk feel the effects
Of excessive vodka drinking,
But their hearts tremble with joy
That this is their home!

In the land of flying axes,
Life is stress-free for us,
In the land of flying axes,
A horse is a measure of success,
In the land of flying axes,
A golden thought was born,
If you don’t have a dog, maybe it's better,
Make sausage from a cat!

In the land of flying axes,
Life is joyful for us,
In the land of flying axes,
The peasant invented the wheel,
In the land of flying axes,
People are drawn to each other,
And although everyone complains about poverty,
At least no one gets bored!