shekh kahta hain main nahi pita
ha wo angur khub kahta hain
shekh kahta hain main nahi pita
ha wo angur khub kahta hain
aa fark itna hain ashq dono me
ham to pite hain wo chabata hain

duniya kahe buri hain
duniya kahe buri hain, ye botal sharaab ki
duniya kahe buri hain, ye botal sharaab ki
apni to zindagi hain
apni to zindagi hain, ye botal sharaab ki
duniya kahe buri hain, ye botal sharaab ki
apni to zindagi hain, ye botal sharaab ki
duniya kahe buri hain, ye botal sharaab ki

hamdam amir ki hain, na dushman garib ki
hamdam amir ki hain, na dushman garib ki
hamdam amir ki hain, na dushman garib ki
sabse, sabse nibha rahi hai, ye botal sharaab ki
sabse nibha rahi hai, ye botal sharaab ki
duniya kahe buri hain, ye botal sharaab ki

ye bevafa nahi na hi dil todati hain ye
ye bevafa nahi
ye bevafa nahi na hi dil todati hain ye
mahbub se
mahbub se bhali hai ye botal sharaab ki
mahbub se bhali hai ye botal sharaab ki
duniya kahe buri hain, ye botal sharaab ki

manta hu janaab pita hun, thik hai behisaab pita hun
manta hu janaab pita hun, thik hai behisaab pita hun
manta hu janaab pita hun, thik hai behisaab pita hun
log logo ka khun pite hain
main to fir bhi sharaab pita

aai jo maut bhi to, main kah dunga maut se
aai jo maut bhi to, main kah dunga maut se
aai jo maut bhi to, main kah dunga maut se
zaalim bhari padi hain
zaalim bhari padi hain, ye botal sharaab ki
zaalim bhari padi hain, ye botal sharaab ki
duniya kahe buri hain, ye botal sharaab ki
duniya kahe buri hain, ye botal sharaab ki
ye botal sharaab ki
ye botal sharaab ki

The Sheikh denies the drink,
Yet grapes he feasts upon with glee.
A subtle difference, soul to soul:
We drink, while he, he chews the tree.

The world condemns, it calls her vile,
This bottle, born of grape's deep sigh.
Yet in her depths, our lives reside,
In every drop, our spirits fly.
The world condemns, it calls her vile.

No friend of rich, nor foe of poor,
She treats all souls with equal grace.
She serves the high, she serves the low,
This bottle, in her time and space.
The world condemns, it calls her vile.

She's never false, nor heart-destroyer,
Unlike a love that turns to dust.
More true than lovers' fickle vows,
This bottle, in its sacred trust.
The world condemns, it calls her vile.

I drink, I confess, I drink and drink,
Beyond the count, a flowing tide.
While men consume the souls of men,
I simply drink, and gently glide.

And when the shadow of death appears,
I'll tell the end, with steady breath:
"Cruel death, your chalice overflows,
With this sweet drink, beyond all death."
The world condemns, it calls her vile.
The world condemns, it calls her vile.
This bottle, born of grape's deep sigh.
This bottle, in the sky.