With Marshall Tito, the heroic son not even Hell shall stop us. We raise our foreheads, we walk boldly and clench our fists hard. Of an ancient kindred we are, but Goths we are not Part of ancient Slavdom are we. Whoever says otherwise slanders and lies, will feel our fist. All the fingers upon our hands, through misery and suffering The Partisans awareness has created. And now when we should, to the sun, to the sky, We raise our fists high.