Fun di getos tfise-vent
In di velder fraye,
Anshtot keytn af di hent
Kh'halt a biks a naye.
Af di oyfgabes mayn fraynt
Kusht mikh haldz un aksl
Mitn biks kh'bin ikh nit fun haynt
Fest tsunoyfgevaksn.
Veynik zaynen mir in tsol,
Drayster vi milyonen
Raysn mir af barg un tol
Brikn, eshalonen.
Der fashist, er tsitert hert,
Veys nisht vu, fun vanen
Shturmen yidn fun unter erd,
Yidn partizaner.
S'vo-t „nekome“ hot a zin
Ven mit blut farshraybst im
Far dem heylikn bagin
Firn mir di shtraytn
Neyn! mir veln keynmol zayn
Letste mohikaner
S'brengt der nakht dir zunenshayn
Der yid - der partizaner.
___
From these ghetto prison walls
Into the free forests
Instead of chains on my hands
I carry a new rifle
On missions, my friend kisses me
Throat and shoulder
From this day on
I am one with my weapon.
We are few in number
But we count for millions.
On hills and in valleys
We explode bridges, brigades.
The fascist will tremble
Won't know from where
Jews, partisans,
Storm up from under the earth.
A word like „revenge” counts for something
When you're illing to write it in blood.
We strike before
Sacred day's dawn.
And no! We will not be the last,
The Last of the Mohicans
We bring sunshine to the night,
Jews partisans!
