During the
Independent State of Croatia, part of the
Ustasha ideology was minimizing the
Slavic origin of
Croats, purporting that Croats are descendants of the
Goths.[2] The middle stanza of this song addresses that by outright refutation of the
Gothic theory and by reaffirming the Slavic origins of all
South Slavs.
Written in 1943 when relations between Josip Broz Tito and the
Soviet leadership were very close, the first verse of the song's original version read "Uz Tita i Staljina, dva junačka sina" ("With Tito and
Stalin, two heroic sons"). According to the song's composer Oskar Danon, people spontaneously rechristened this verse as "Uz maršala Tita, junačkoga sina" ("With Marshal Tito, the heroic son") at its first hearing in 1943 at the second session of
AVNOJ in
Jajce,[1][3] at which Tito was awarded the title of
Marshal of Yugoslavia.[4] This version was firmly adopted as official after the
Tito–Stalin split in 1948. It has been translated into all official languages of SFR Yugoslavia, as well as Slovak (So Súdruhom Titom).[5]
So súdruhom Titom, Hrdinským synom
Nás nemôže ani peklo zmiesť!
𝄆 My zdvíhame čelo, My kráčame smelo,
A pevne my zvierame päsť.𝄇
My rod starý my sme, A Góti my nie sme,
Len slovanstva starého sme časť.
𝄆 Kto opačne letí, Ten lže a klebetí,
Ten našu pocíti päsť!𝄇
Už prsty na rukách V biede a mukoch
Partizánska postojala česť
𝄆 A až bude treba, To slnka, do neba
My vysoko zdvihneme päsť!𝄇
With Marshal 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 clenched.
𝄆 And now when we should, to the sun, to the sky,
We raise our fists high.𝄇
With great Marshal Tito, our
land's bravest hero,
We'll be even stronger than
Hell!
𝄆 We raise our heads bravely, and not hung down gravely,
And clench our fists hard as well.𝄇
We're from an ancient tribe, but
Goths we don't ascribe,
As we're children of ancient
Slavs.
𝄆
He who says otherwise merely slanders and lies,
And surely will face our wrath.𝄇
All fingers on our hands will fight to save our lands,
As the
Partisans are always spry.
𝄆 When we die we don't cry to the sun or the sky,
We just raise our fists on high.𝄇