One who changes history, you won't find their name in history

The fire of revenge has taken a vow ... to play the drums of your death today

I am a hero for the poor ... and a villain for people like you ... my name is Shankar and I am Goon No.1

My name is Chutiya ... I straighten the cot of very smart people

Don't talk to much rubbish, and disorder the death in your life

Even after dying their body chops ... will wriggle with pain

I'll make their rowdyism wear a uniform of death ... which is called shroud, shroud

My name is Bulla ... I keep it open

I am someone who hates crime ... light for the noble, flames for the goons

I don't hunt animals ... I hunt humans

Your status in front of us is the same ... as the status of cloth in front of scissors

After I make you into morsel for death ... I will pierce the spear of death in your chest

Tabor is played by eunuchs ... when a man comes to play ... he plays the drums

A wet cigarette will not light ... and it is definite that ... your date of death will not get delayed

Bread is there to be eaten ... and chop is there to be chewed

This pill will build fire within you ... then you will tear her bodice

The deal for killing will not be done with money ... it will be done with dead bodies

Rowdyism and politics both are bastards from the same father

My name is Ibu Hatela ... my mother is a daughter of a bitch, my father is a servant of satan ... want to eat a banana?

When this cloth wraps around someone as a shroud ... then that person has to be buried

My name is Pote ... and not even my father trusts me

My name is Lambu Aata ... I will give him the slap of death

Dead bodies will fall just like ... pee drips from a baby boys penis ... tip tip

Her face is like Sonali, legs are like Raveena and eyes are like Karishma

You have made mine stand ... with anger you have made each one of my hair stand

First death will decorate on your forehead ... then the drums of my rowdyism will be played

The way a station shivers when a train arrives ... just like that the fear of my fever, will force you all to shiver

To end rowdyism ... I'll have to become a rowdy

Whether it is the sister of a king or the daughter of a beggar ... there comes a day when she comes to a man to blow the whistle

Your sister's body has been burnt ... now make preparations for the shroud of Lambu Aata

The enemy of the country your face will be made black ... because today Bulla's funeral will be taken out