kuch ladke kuch ladkiyo ki hui ikathi bhid
aisa nacha nach ke bhaiya ho gayi man ko peed
ho gayi man ko peed hua dil bada udasha
bap bajaye saj to bitiya hai rakasha
ye nach wach kya hai
ye nach wach kya hai ye kya gana bajana
kuch paglo ne mahfil bana di pagal khana
ye nach wach kya hai

bada kasth dete ho patli kamar ko
haay patli kamar ko
jara dekhiye aap apni hi umar ko
ho apni hi umar ko
use nach kahiye jo madhosh kar de
bichade jami par sabhi ki najar ko
sabhi ki najar ko
ye nach gana hamko aisa lagta hai
jaise diwano ka apas me bair ho purana
ye nach wach kya hai

saram karo dub maro
mohabbat kanhaiya se radha ne ki thi
magar us mohabbat me kya sadgi thi
jami aasma ka
jami aasma ka farak ho gaya hai
insa ka beda garak ho gaya hai
garak ho gaya hai
bata de koi hamko nahi bata sakoge
bata de koi hamko samjhade koi hamko
hai kaun isme shama or kaun hai parwana
ye nach wach kya hai

na maszid ka charcha na mandir ki bate
na maszid ka charcha na mandir ki bate
ujale hai puraw ke paschim ki rate
ye kaisa nasha hai ye kaisa nasha hai
ye kaisa guman
ye begani rasme ye jalan bhi udhar
jalan bhi udhar
wo sadiyo purani haamri nishani
tumhari dua se bani hai nishana
bani hai nishana

ye nach wach kya hai ye nach wach kya hai
ye kya gana bajana
kuch paglo ne mahfil bana di pagal khana
banadi pagal khana bana di pagal khana

A throng of boys and girls, a gathering made,
A dance commenced, a sorrow it conveyed.
Sorrow in the heart, a heavy, shadowed weight,
Fathers played the tune, daughters sealed their fate.
What is this dance, this rhythm's fleeting grace?
A madhouse born, a foolish, frenzied space.
What is this dance?

You wound the waist, so slender, delicate and slight,
Oh, slender waist, you falter in the light.
Consider then, your age, the years that flee,
Your own advancing time, for all to see.
True dance should seize, and leave the soul ablaze,
And cast all eyes upon the ground in daze.
This dance and song, a thing that seems to be,
A feud of lunatics, for all the world to see.
What is this dance?

Shame on you all, to drown yourselves in grief!
Radha's love for Krishna, found its sweet relief,
Yet in that love, a simple beauty bloomed,
A world of difference, now sadly entombed.
The earth and sky, a different space they seem,
And man is lost, it is a bitter dream.
Tell us, someone, tell us if you can,
Who is the moth, who the candle, in this fan?
What is this dance?

No mosque's discourse, no temple's solemn prayer,
The East's own light, in Western nights laid bare.
What intoxication, what arrogant display,
Borrowed customs, envy's fading ray.
Our ancient mark, in ages long since past,
Your prayer made it a target, built to last.
A target built.

What is this dance, this rhythm's fleeting play?
A madhouse born, a foolish, frenzied way.
A madhouse now, a madhouse it has grown.