he ham galiyo ke paale
apne haal me hain matwaale
ham galiyo ke paale, apne haal me hain matwaale
mar gaye mar gaye mar gaye
mar gaye hamko marne wale
ham galiyo ke paale, apne haal me hain matwaale
mar gaye mar gaye mar gaye
mar gaye hamko marne wale
ham galiyo ke paale, apne haal me hain matwaale

albeli hain apani yaari, o mano hamko duniya saari
albeli hain apani yaari, o mano hamko duniya saari
duniya ka har dhandha jaane
achcha aur bura pahchane
he chabhi uski das dete hain
chabhi uski das dete hain
jo tode kanun ke taale
ham galiyo ke paale, apne haal me hain matwaale

bhukhe nange hamko pyare
bhukhe nange hamko pyare
dushman hain beimaan hamare
are dushman hain beimaan hamare
bambam bhole naath bol ke
rakh de unke pol khol ke
sab futpathi apne sathi, sab futpathi apne sahti
hath koi to ham par daale
ham galiyo ke paale, apne haal me hain matwaale

jo chandan ka tilak lagaye
mandir se bhagwaan churaye
bahar ke desho me jaakar
laakho dalar aur paund kamaye
are duniya usako gunda samjhe
duniya usako gunda samjhe
chhin ke do roti jo khale
ham galiyo ke paale, apne haal me hain matwaale
mar gaye mar gaye mar gaye
mar gaye hamko marne wale
ham galiyo ke paale, apne haal me hain matwaale

We, the street-born, weathered and worn,
In our own worlds, joyfully born.
We, the street-born, in this space,
Drunk on life's wild, untamed grace.
They’ve perished, they’ve perished, they're gone,
Those who sought to crush us, at dawn.
We, the street-born, forever free,
Drunk on life's sweet revelry.

Our friendship, a wild, untamed thing,
The world itself, our song to sing.
We know the trades, the dark and light,
Discern the wrong, and what is right.
We offer the key, a whispered plea,
To those who break the law, and flee.
We, the street-born, with hearts ablaze,
Drunk on life's bewildering maze.

The hungry, the naked, we hold dear,
Our enemies, the ones we fear.
With Shiva's name, a thunderous call,
We tear down the masks that hide all.
We, the sidewalk's kindred, hand in hand,
Who dares to strike us in this land?
We, the street-born, spirits bold,
Drunk on tales yet to be told.

He who wears the sandalwood mark,
And steals from God within the dark.
Who travels far, beyond the sea,
And gathers wealth for all to see.
The world calls him a gangster, a thief,
While we, who share a loaf, find relief.
We, the street-born, forever true,
Drunk on life's exquisite hue.
They’ve perished, they’ve perished, they're gone,
Those who sought to crush us, at dawn.
We, the street-born, in this space,
Drunk on life's wild, untamed grace.