gaali dete hontho ko main pappi deke jod du
gaali dete hontho ko main pappi deke jod du
bas me yu phirne vali scooter pe aa chhod du
gabaruaa singh main tip top kaur tu
bas me yu phirne vali scooter pe aa chhod du
gaali dete hontho ko main pappi deke jod du

mohallo ka hu gunda mustanda cheaper munda
vaise bhi main ek number ka main pakit maar
akhbaro me parche thano me hai mere charche
phulo ki tarakki kahu zariya yaar

ho yaar baka dala jisne daka
hud kar ke dil mera gaya challa re
de use hubakkad haath mera pakad
chhu ke ise nasib ka balb jalaa re

aisa sona chehra jaise majuri garib ki
batuye me photo tere noto se hakim ki
aisa sona chehra jaise majuri garib ki
batuye me photo tere noto se hakim ki
tu kahe to jind saari teri utthe mod du
gaali dete hontho ko main pappi deke jod du

bas me yu phirne vali scooter pe aa chhod du
tere haath apni patang ki main jod du
golo ki faludo ki main chasni bator du
tere haath apni patang ki main jod du
golo ki faludo ki main chasni bator du

bas me yu phirne vali bas me yu phirne vali
bas me yu phirne vali scooter pe aa chhod du
gaali dete hontho ko main pappi deke jod du
gabaruaa singh main tip top kaur tu
gaali dete hontho ko main pappi deke jod du

I'll kiss the lips that curse, mend them with a touch,
Leave the bus-bound darling on a scooter's clutch.
Gabarua Singh, a lady, top to toe you shine,
Leave the bus-bound darling on a scooter's line.
I'll kiss the lips that curse, mend them with a touch.

A thug of the mansions, strong and cheap of mind,
A pickpocket by nature, of a wicked kind.
My name in papers, in the station's lore,
Progress of flowers, my friend, is what I implore.
My heart has surrendered, the bandit's hand,
To the one who robbed me, across this land.
Give her my heart, to hold her hand,
And touch her, and my fate will command.
A golden face, like a poor man's labor,
In your purse, a picture of a ruler's favor.
A golden face, like a poor man's labor,
In your purse, a picture of a ruler's favor.
With you, my life's every turn, I'll forever do.

I'll kiss the lips that curse, mend them with a touch,
Leave the bus-bound darling on a scooter's clutch.
I'll join your hands, the kite strings I will weave,
Gather the syrup of the ice cream I believe.
I'll join your hands, the kite strings I will weave,
Gather the syrup of the ice cream I believe.
Leave the bus-bound darling, leave the bus-bound too,
Leave the bus-bound darling on a scooter for you.
I'll kiss the lips that curse, mend them with a touch,
Gabarua Singh, a lady, top to toe you shine,
I'll kiss the lips that curse, mend them with a touch.