charandaas ko pine ki, jo aadat na hoti
to aaj miyaan baahar, bivi andar na soti
charandaas ko pine ki, jo aadat na hoti
jo aadat na hoti
to aaj miyaan baahar, bivi andar na soti

botal se pyaar kiyaa, buraa mere yaar kiyaa
ghar-ghar me jhagdaa, din-raat kaa ragdaa
botal ke chaske ne, haay mujhe maar diyaa haay
botal se yaaro jo ulfat na hoti, jo ulfat na hoti
to aaj miyaan baahar, bivi andar na soti

munh se lage phir zaalim na chhute
shaam pade hi badan sara tute
nazaro me ghume dukaan sharaab ki
naak me aaye khushbu kabaab ki
is par mazaa ki khaali ho paakit
nazro me ghume phir bivi kaa laakit
mitti ke bhaav jaa ke bech aaye moti
mitti ke bhaav jaa ke bech aaye moti
bech aaye moti
to aaj miyaan baahar, bivi andar na soti

jevar se kapdaa kapde se bartan
botal ke paani me dub gaya dhan
diyaa naa saal bhar kiraya makaan kaa
chadh gayaa sir par karjaa pathaan kaa
dekho ji hote-hote apnaa ye haal hua
betaa ameer kaa than-than-gopaal hua
bik gae sut-but rah gai dhoti
bik gae sut-but rah gai dhoti
rah gai dhoti
to aaj miyaan baahar, bivi andar na soti
charandaas ko pine ki, jo aadat na hoti
jo aadat na hoti
to aaj miyaan baahar, bivi andar na soti

If Charandas knew no draught's embrace,
Then not outside, the husband's disgrace.
If Charandas knew no draught's desire,
No separate beds, no burning fire.

Love for the bottle, a venomous art,
Strife in the home, a tearing heart.
The bottle's allure, a deadly sting,
If friendship with bottles held no sway,
Then not outside, the husband's dismay.

Once embraced, it clings with dread,
As evening falls, the body’s dead.
The liquor store, a vision's call,
The kebab's scent, a tempting thrall.
Yet pockets empty, bereft of gold,
A vision of the wife, her locket sold.
Pearls of worth for dust he'd give,
Pearls of worth now gone to live,
Gone to live,
Then not outside, the husband's reprieve.

From jewels to clothes, from clothes to dish,
In the bottle's flood, a drowning wish.
A year's rent unpaid, a debt accrued,
The Pathan's claim, relentlessly pursued.
See how it ends, this wretched plight,
The wealthy son, now stripped of light.
Suits and boots, their glory lost,
Only the dhoti, counting the cost,
Counting the cost,
Then not outside, the husband's crossed.
If Charandas knew no draught's despair,
No separate beds, beyond compare.
If Charandas knew no draught's embrace,
Then not outside, the husband's disgrace.