Lumberjacks, nothing can affect us -
Neither fires nor frosts
Our weatherbeaten people have settled down
Between the spruce and the birch-tree
Hey-hey-hey!
Our hands have grown used to axen
Only the heart doesn't respond to doctors' advice
If a hangbird sings in the evenings
If a hangbird sings in the evenings
Lumberjacks, forty-seven bachelors
We fell cedars of a triple arm's hold
Falling in love for us is a piece of cake
But gals are not coming to our place
Hey-hey-hey!
Our hands have grown used to axen
Only the heart doesn't respond to doctors' advice
If a hangbird sings in the evenings
If a hangbird sings in the evenings
Lumberjacks, our native land is taiga
Father Frost is a man next door to us
We are feared by February blizzard storms
And shaggy bears!
Hey-hey-hey!
Our hands have grown used to axen
Only the heart doesn't respond to doctors' advice
If a hangbird sings in the evenings
If a hangbird sings in the evenings
Lumberjacks, in a clearing by our fires
We know how to have fun
And at construction sites the echo from our axen
Reaches villages and capital cities!
Hey-hey-hey!
Our hands have grown used to axen
Only the heart doesn't respond to doctors' advice
If a hangbird sings in the evenings
If a hangbird sings in the evenings (X2)