hame to mar diya are kisne bhai
hame to mar diya milke dunia walo ne
kabhi ustado ne kabhi gharwalo ne
hame to mar diya milke dunia walo ne
kabhi ustado ne kabhi gharwalo ne
hame to mar diya

aaj hindusata ke sab shayar
badnasibo ki bat karte hai
ya likhenge ya garibo ki bat karte hai
ya hasino ki julf me uljhe
ya rakibo ki bat karte
ha nojawano ka gum likhe na koi
hampe kya hai sitam likhe na koi
hampe kya hai sitam likhe na koi
hame to mara hai kisne bhai
hame to mara hai lecture sunane walo ne
kabhi ustado ne kabhi gharwalo ne
hame to mar diya milke dunia walo ne
kabhi ustado ne kabhi gharwalo ne
hame to mar diya

ghar ki halat to hu bahu suniye
bap bete ki guft gu suniye
ha kal akha tha maine ye dady se
lao paise hamari arz hai ye
tumhe pala tumhare daddy ne
hame palo tumhara farz hai ye
tum mahine me tees dete ho
nakdi do ddin hi pas rahti hai
o athayis din mahine me
jeb meri udas rahti hai
yar dete hai mujhko dawat roz
mai abhi ek din unhe bulata hu
ha jau hotel me basdah bankar
or kangal banke aata hu
aye mere bap tujhe apne hi bete
ki kasam fir mujhe apne khazane ka sahara de de
tees ne not meri jan dobara dede
ha mere bap

daddy bole mre aziz ho tum
ek number ke badtamiz ho tum
ek number ke badtamiz ho tum
sunai galiya are kisne bhai
sunai galiya kya kya sunane walo ne
hame to mara hai lecture sunane walo ne
kabhi ustado ne kabhi gharwalo ne
hame to mar diya milke dunia walo ne
kabhi ustado ne kabhi gharwalo ne
hame to mar diya

apne teacher bhi kya kamal ke hai
kya batau azab khyal ke hai
apne teacher kabhi na khush honge
hamne to azma ke dekh liya
unka para kabhi utarta anhi
hamne maska lagake dekh liya
tight patlun se unke jidd hai
hero cut bal kat khate hai
ha chup raho to wo kahte hai gungi
kuch bole to dant khate hai
jitni insult wo karte hai
utni insult to khuda ne bhi
kabhi saitan ki na ki hogi
bat karne par bhi hai pabandi
aah bharne par bhi hai pabandi
aji jine ka jikar ka kijiye
yaha marne par bhi hai pabandi
hame khabro ke soch tha ke mar jayenge
mar ke bhi mil gaye to teacher to akha jayenge
mar ke bhi mil gaye to teacher to akha jayenge
dimag chata hai
dimag chata hai inke safed balo ne

hame to mar diya are kisne bhai
hame to mar diya milke dunia walo ne
kabhi ustado ne kabhi gharwalo ne
hame to mar diya milke dunia walo ne
kabhi ustado ne kabhi gharwalo ne
hame to mar diya

Who has slain us, oh, who, I ask?
The world, in concert, dealt the task.
At times, the masters, sometimes kin,
The world, in concert, drew us in.
At times, the masters, sometimes kin,
And struck us down, where do we begin?

Today, Hindustan's poets all,
Of wretched souls, they sing and call.
Will they write of the poor's plight?
Or tresses in the beauty's light?
Or rivals' woes, with all their might?
No youth's despair, they choose to shun,
Our heavy wounds, they leave undone.
Who has slain us, oh, who, I pray?
The flatterers, who stole our day.
At times, the masters, sometimes kin,
And struck us down, where do we begin?

Now, hear the home, its painful tale,
The father-son's harsh, bitter wail.
"Where were you yesterday?" I plead,
"Father, grant us what we need!"
"Your father raised you," came the plea,
"To raise us is your destiny."
"You give but thirty in a month,
And cash is gone, by day two's hunch."
For twenty-eight long days they tease,
My empty pockets, ill at ease.
My friends invite me out each day,
I dream of hosting, come what may.
To hotels grand, I'll make my way,
And jewels I'll wear, come what may.
Oh, father, by your son's own plea,
Grant me your hoard, and set me free.
Thirty new notes, my life anew,
Give them to me, I implore of you.
Oh, father, do.

"My dear," he said, "you are so coarse,
A first-rate boor, without remorse!"
Who hurled the stones, the bitter cries?
The ones who spoke, with hateful lies.
And lectures long, they’ve struck us down,
At times, the masters, sometimes kin,
The world, in concert, drew us in.

Our teachers, oh, a wondrous sight,
Their open minds, a glorious light!
But never pleased, they're hard to please,
We've tried it all, with all of these.
Their rage, it never seems to cease,
We've tried to flatter, to appease.
Tight pants they crave, and hero's cut,
If silent, then they call us shut.
If we speak, then we're torn apart.
The insults they hurl, pierce the heart.
The insults, sharp, and ever near,
Even Satan, did not fear!
To talk, we're banned, to sigh, we're bound,
And living’s joy is nowhere found.
The dead may rest, they say to us,
But here, in death, we're perilous!
We thought that news would kill us then,
And if we live, the teachers win, again.
Our minds they gnawed.
Our minds they gnawed, with silver hair.

Who has slain us, oh, who, I ask?
The world, in concert, dealt the task.
At times, the masters, sometimes kin,
And struck us down, where do we begin?