ke birat mai manas ye dud hai rudh
ye dabba wala dudh yo dudh wilawar kud
bole bam bam bhagad bhagad bham motarwala motarwala

sam dam dhand bhed na hai sari khel mister bhag le
yo motarwala pone sath taka satka
yo motarwala ding dong karta lewe entry
yo motarwala pike deshi ke le le matka
yo motarwala ka viza na dekhe country

mar ched chad ginta hai ek ji
badi jag sara give and take ji
man kahan de tau rahan de jan de jan de jan de
rai wadke ghee khawe asdi to bat kar
chit chidiya ki vairan aaj saf kar
ke okat re ke tu bat re rai chore dunga patak
yo motarwala raha tashan mai ghume ji munda
yo motarwala tomm and jerry dekhe rowe ji
rotan hai chora fokat gunda karde ji kunda
yo motarwala gawe ragini hip hop me ji

mar ched chad ginta hai ek ji
badi jag sara give and take ji
man kahan de tau rahan de jan de jan de jan de
rai wadke ghee khawe asdi to bat kar
chit chidiya ki vairan aaj saf kar
ke okat re ke tu bat re rai chore dunga patak
yo motarwala pike lele ka chotha bhanja
yo motarwala pant me rakhe nanhi mungfali
yo motarwala hai huddangi na liyo panga
yo motarwala uk ka hai local grusali
yo motarwala pone sath taka satka
yo motarwala ding dong karta lewe entry
yo motarwala pike deshi ke le le matka
yo motarwala ka viza na dekhe country

In what realm does this mortal soul reside?
A milk-fed babe, or a packaged tide?
He leaps, a whirlwind, in a world gone mad,
This Motorwala, a boisterous lad.

No force, no deceit, no bargain held true,
Just games and gambles, for him and for you.
He siphons sixty percent, a stolen gain,
This Motorwala, entering the fray again.
He drinks the local brew, a gourd in his hand,
This Motorwala, heedless of any land.

He counts his conquests, one by one,
In this great theatre where the games are spun.
I say, let go, release, let be, let be, let be.
The elders' ghee, the truth they impart,
Cleanse the sparrow's ruin, a brand new start.
What strength, what right, to you I'll impart,
This Motorwala, strutting in his prime,
This Motorwala, weeping at stories of time.
He's a free-range rogue, a locked-down rhyme,
This Motorwala, crooning hip-hop's climb.

He counts his conquests, one by one,
In this great theatre where the games are spun.
I say, let go, release, let be, let be, let be.
The elders' ghee, the truth they impart,
Cleanse the sparrow's ruin, a brand new start.
What strength, what right, to you I'll impart,
This Motorwala, a small snack in his hold,
This Motorwala, peanuts in pockets of old.
He's a rebel, a tempest, stories untold,
This Motorwala, a local grizzly, bold.
He siphons sixty percent, a stolen gain,
This Motorwala, entering the fray again.
He drinks the local brew, a gourd in his hand,
This Motorwala, heedless of any land.