dil se hai shahzade hum
hai surat bhale mawali ki
khali pocket rakhte hai
par photo gita bali ki
dil se hai shahzade hum
hai surat bhale mawali ki
khali pocket rakhte hai
par photo gita bali ki

nahi pakane wali ghar me rah jata dil machal machal
apne dam par hi to pyare shahar ke chalte hai hotel
khali pocket rakhte hai par photo gita bali ki

dil se hai shahzade hum hai surat bhale mawali ki
khali pocket rakhte hai par photo gita bali ki

sapno ka ek mahal hai apna
mahal me dil ki rani hai
waise to ye basti gandi
gali bahut purani hai
dada giri bhale kahe koi
humne to rakhwali ki
khali pocket rakhte hai
par photo gita bali ki

dil se hai shahzade hum hai surat bhale mawali ki
khali pocket rakhte hai par photo gita bali ki

humne koi humdard na paya
aur na kisi ka pyar mila
bhatak gaye ham raaho se
jab khula naa koi dawar mila
aankh khuli to pata chala
ye dagar to hai kutwali ki
arey aankh khuli to pata chala
ye dagar to hai kutwali ki
khali pocket rakhte hai
par photo gita bali ki

dil se hai shahzade hum hai surat bhale mawali ki
khali pocket rakhte hai par photo gita bali ki

Princes of heart, we are, though rags we wear,
Our pockets empty, burdens hard to bear.
Yet, Gita Bali’s portrait, a treasure held,
Princes of heart, a story to be spelled.

No home-cooked meals, the heart still yearns and aches,
On our own steam, the city’s hunger slakes.
Our pockets bare, but faith's soft light,
Gita Bali’s image, burning ever bright.

Princes of heart, though rough our outer guise,
Our pockets empty, mirrored in our eyes.
Yet, Gita Bali's portrait, a cherished art,
Princes of heart, a kingdom in the heart.

A castle of dreams, our private domain,
Where a queen of hearts forever will reign.
Though the world be a slum, a street worn and gray,
We've guarded our souls, come what may.
They call it defiance, they call it the fight,
We stand our ground and shine our light.
Our pockets empty, but hope's gentle call,
Gita Bali's portrait, embracing us all.

Princes of heart, though our outward look may seem rough,
Our pockets empty, love is enough,
Yet, Gita Bali’s portrait, our guiding star,
Princes of heart, reaching afar.

No kindred souls, no love’s sweet grace,
We lost our way in life's desolate space.
No open doors, no solace to find,
But the echoes of truth, forever enshrined.
Awake, we find our path, a law-enforced plea,
Awake, we find our fate, from tyranny.
Our pockets empty, but the spirit's grand quest,
Gita Bali's portrait, forever blessed.

Princes of heart, though rags we wear,
Our pockets empty, burdens hard to bear.
Yet, Gita Bali’s portrait, a treasure held,
Princes of heart, a story to be spelled.