tak dina din mar lapad, phad chhapad chhat pyare
na sune bat koi, hath hai or lat pyare
tak dina din mar lapad, phad chhapad chhat pyare
na sune bat koi, hath hai or lat pyare
apun kabhi na akela akela akela
nach magar kat magar, noch hame khana
bharat mata ki, bharat mata ki
tum jai bolo jai bolo jai, bharat mata ki jai
bharat mata ki bharat mata ki
tum jai bolo jai bolo jai, bharat mata ki jai

sone ki chidiya, dengu maleriya
gud bhi hai, gobar bhi bharat mata ki jai
tak dina din ham hain, sarkari hathiyar pyare
koi kare abad, etraj gaya bhad pyare
fir na kahna, are piche hi rahna
kasam ye khai hai, sahar sanghai hai
jo hamne kahi rule wahi
bharat mata ki, bharat mata ki
tum jai bolo jai bolo jai, bharat mata ki jai
bharat mata ki bharat mata ki
tum jai bolo jai bolo jai, bharat mata ki jai
sone ki chidiya, dengu maleriya
gud bhi hai, gobar bhi bharat mata ki jai

mangata hai hamein chanda abhi, hamein suraj abhi
bolo kya doge, chanda ye agar
chanda nahi to unisat sahi, bolo kaya doge
nach magar kat magar, noch hamein khana
khad ke don shutter hamein jannat banana
ana jana game bajana, hey bharat mata ki jai
sone ki chidiya, dengu maleriya
gud bhi hai, gobar bhi bharat mata ki jai

The drum of days, a slap and tear,
A roof of clouds, my dearest dear.
No ear to heed, just fists and kicks,
The drum of days, a slap that flicks.

We are never alone, never alone,
Dance, but bite, and claw, and own.
India's mother, India's heart,
You sing her praise, and play your part.
India's mother, India's heart,
You sing her praise, and play your part.

Golden bird, we give you malaria,
Sweet jaggery, and dung, India's aria.
The drum of days, we are the state's,
Let life grow, let no one abate.
Then do not say, stay back, retreat,
We swore an oath, a Shanghai street.
What we have said, the rule you see,
India's mother, India's decree.
India's mother, India's heart,
You sing her praise, and play your part.
Golden bird, we give you malaria,
Sweet jaggery, and dung, India's aria.

We crave the moon, and then the sun,
What will you give, when day is done?
If not the moon, then nineteen's grace,
What offering for this hungry space?
Dance, but bite, and claw, and feed,
To raise two shutters, heaven's creed.
Come and go, and play the game,
India's mother, whispers her name.
Golden bird, with dengue's sting,
Sweet jaggery, and dung, India's sing.