I will only like the girl, whom my mother likes

Whites wear pants and call this game cricket ... and we wear loincloths and call it gilli-danda

To remove the bread from the burner, the tongs have to burn their face

You're coming forward and swinging ... now come, come, come

In order to wear the thread of my duty ... I cannot break the thread of my religion

Our sweat will run as blood in our veins

You bloody slaves will remain under my boots

Tear apart these foreigners ... tear them apart!

No matter how thick the shoe sole is ... it definitely wears out

These whites don't even spare their own kin

When the clothes don't cover the legs then the honor of the whole body goes away