Текст песни Attila

A noble szejke born and bred Full loftily I held my head Great Attila my sire was he As legend he left to me. A dagger, battleaxe and spear. A heart to whom unkown is fear A potent arm which often has slained The tartar for in fields and plains The scourge of Attila the bold Still hangs amoung us as of old And when this lash we swing on hig Out enemies are forced to fly The szekle proud then learned to know And strived to become his foe For blood of Huns runs in his warm And will know to wield his arm.