suno ae bhaiya tumhe sunaye
ek anokhi baat
are janam se lekar marne tak
lakdi ka na chhute sath
dekh tamasha lakdi ka
bhai dekh tamasha lakdi ka
dekh tamasha lakdi ka
bhai dekh tamasha lakdi ka

saur me lakdi jalti hai
aur lakdi ka banta palna
saur me lakdi jalti hai
aur lakdi ka banta palna
lakdi ka hi leke sahara
baccha ho sikhe chalna
takhti banti hai lakdi ki
takhti banti hai lakdi ki
bane khilauna lakdi ka
dekh tamasha, tamasha
dekh tamasha lakdi ka
dekh tamasha lakdi ka
bhai dekh tamasha lakdi ka

shadi me mandap lakdi ka
lakdi ki hai shehnai
shadi me mandap lakdi ka
lakdi ki hai shehnai
baith ke lakdi ki doli me
dulhan piya ke ghar aayi
sindur dani lakdi ki
sindur dani lakdi ki
aur palang banaya lakdi ka
dekh tamasha, tamasha
dekh tamasha lakdi ka
dekh tamasha lakdi ka
bhai dekh tamasha lakdi ka

lakdi ka hal chale khet me
nadi me lakdi ki naiya
lakdi ka hal chale khet me
nadi me lakdi ki naiya
khinche bail bailgadi ko
laga hai lakdi ka pahiya

chautha pan jab aaye to budha
hath me lakdi leke chale
chautha pan jab aaye to budha
hath me lakdi leke chale
marne par arthi lakdi ki
lakdi ki hi chita jale
aise hi jivan bhar bahiya
rahe sahara lakdi ka
dekh tamasha, tamasha
dekh tamasha lakdi ka
dekh tamasha lakdi ka
bhai dekh tamasha lakdi ka

Listen close, brothers, and I shall tell,
A tale of wonder, a story to swell.
From the cradle's embrace to the grave's cold keep,
Wood, our companion, secrets to steep.
Behold the spectacle, the wood's grand show,
Behold the spectacle, watch its life flow.

In the sun's harsh kiss, wood finds its fire,
And cradles are born, fueled by desire.
In the sun's harsh kiss, wood finds its fire,
And cradles are born, lifting souls higher.
With wood as a guide, the infant first walks,
Upon wooden slates, the future talks.
Toys crafted of wood, a playful delight,
Behold the spectacle, bathed in wood's light.
Behold the spectacle, wood's gentle art.

The wedding's pavilion, wood's tender grace,
A wooden shehnai sets the sacred space.
The wedding's pavilion, wood's solemn grace,
A wooden shehnai fills the sacred space.
In a wooden doli, the bride finds her way,
To her beloved's home, come what may.
A vermillion box, wooden and true,
And a wooden bed, dreams softly imbue.
Behold the spectacle, a life's new start.
Behold the spectacle, wood's gentle art.

The wooden plow turns, in fields so wide,
On wooden boats, on river's tide.
The wooden plow turns, in fields so wide,
On wooden boats, on the river's tide.
Bullocks pull carts, with wheels of wood spun,
Under the sun, till day is done.

As old age descends, a staff in hand,
The aged ones tread, across the land.
As old age descends, a staff in hand,
The aged ones tread, across the sand.
At life's final end, a wooden pyre,
Wood's embrace, setting souls afire.
Thus, throughout life, its shelter we find,
Wood's constant presence, for heart and mind.
Behold the spectacle, wood's final part.
Behold the spectacle, wood's gentle art.