aa rahe hai samne se chand naujawa
karte hai baat se to jaise tis maar khan
laila ki ungaliya hai ya majnu ki pasliya
chalta nahi hai pata ki hai ladke hai ya ladkiya
ke hai ladke hai ya ladkiya
ke hai ladke hai ya ladkiya
hey kamal ho ya kamala bimal ho ya bimala
bate jana sarkar nahi to hum samjhenge
ki chana jor garam kamal ho ya kamala
bimal ho ya bimala bate jana sarkar
nahi to hum samjhege ki chana jor garam

ye kon ke thekedar banege kya kahna
ye desh ke pehare dar banege kya kahna
hari nisani or pila chehra
or na laahu badan me julf gira ke mathe pe
ye khak ladege chana jor garam
kamal ho ya kamala bimal ho ya bimala
bate jana sarkar nahi to hum samjhenge
ki chana jor garam

ladki dekhi khas liya bhai khub kiya
ladki dekhi khas liya bhai khub kiya
aaji kya badiya romance kiya
bhai khub kiya shuku shuku gaate gaate
ho gayi suku chana jor garam
kamal ho ya kamala bimal ho ya bimala
bate jana sarkar nahi to hum samjhenge
ki chana jor garam

chidi mar ka pahlwan tum jiyo jiyo
assi pond ke naujawan tum jiyo jiyo
chidi mar ka pahlwan tum jiyo jiyo
assi pond ke no jawan tum jiyo jiyo
tumse kya banduk uthegi
kya chalegi talwar
dusman ager aa jaye to pahna dena haar
chana jor garam kamal ho ya kamala
bimal ho ya bimala bate jana sarkar
nahi to hum samjhege ki chana jor garam

The moon, a youth, strides forth, bold and new,
Their words, a challenge, a dare, ringing true.
Fingers of Laila, or ribs of Majnu's frame?
Do they walk as boys, or girls, the same?
Boys or girls, a blurring of the line,
Boys or girls, a riddle, a divine sign.

Oh, Lotus or Kamala, pure Bimal or Bimala,
Speak your mind, dear government, lest we explain,
the spiced chickpeas, the burning flame.
Lotus or Kamala, Bimal or Bimala,
Speak your mind, dear government, lest we explain
the spiced chickpeas, the burning flame.

Who claims this contract, what can we say?
Who'll guard this nation, come what may?
Green the mark, and yellow the face,
No blood in veins, hair across the brow's embrace.
They'll fight with dust and spiced chickpeas,
Lotus or Kamala, Bimal or Bimala,
Speak your mind, dear government, lest we explain
the spiced chickpeas, the burning flame.

A girl I saw, I held her close, how grand!
A girl I saw, I held her close, the best in the land!
Ah, what a romance, a beautiful dance,
Singing "Shukoo Shukoo," in a sweet trance.
The "Shukoo" fades, and spiced chickpeas remain.
Lotus or Kamala, Bimal or Bimala,
Speak your mind, dear government, lest we explain
the spiced chickpeas, the burning flame.

The sparrow hunter, oh, may you live and thrive!
Eighty pounds of youth, may you survive!
The sparrow hunter, oh, may you live and thrive!
Eighty pounds of youth, may you survive!
Will a gun be raised by your hand?
Will a sword be wielded across the land?
Should a foe appear, a garland you'll impart,
Spiced chickpeas, a warmth within the heart.
Lotus or Kamala, Bimal or Bimala,
Speak your mind, dear government, lest we explain
the spiced chickpeas, the burning flame.