I led a bandit out to shoot her.
She didn’t plead with me to spare her.
In pain, she bit her kerchief mutely
And glared at me with pride and anger.
And then she told me, “Listen, laddie,
I know I’m gonna get the bullet;
So let me now, before you waste me,
At my Ukraine gaze to the fullest.
At my Ukraine, where horses gallop
Under Bandera’s mighty banner;
Ukraine, where folks are hiding weapons,
And search for faith, and care for honor.
Where we have got green moonshine boiling
In whitewashed huts under the blue skies;
Where we’ve got sawed‐off shotguns poking
Against the heads of drunken Russkies.
For nomads, time to go marauding,
For Russian women, to start weeping!
Russkies or Krauts, you are not wanted,
And of our bread enough you’ve eaten!
On Ukraine’s lard you will not fatten,
Our vodka, thieves, you will not guzzle.
Our history is not yet written,
And Russia’s scribes won’t keep it muzzled.
There riding through the fields goes Bulbash,
His bridle like coin bracelets jangles;
Let commies back in Mother Russia
Do as they like and freedom strangle.
Collective farming is is their setup
To feed the lazy and the sloppy;
Here, we don’t care which one is better,
NKVD or the Gestapo.”
I'd now perhaps recommend https://www.cato.org/commentary/ukraines-memory-wars for something deeper. It's actually by Cathy Young, if you remember her (Aiplay etc).
(DONT TRIGGER IMP)