The Avşar provinces immigrated
The ones going slowly are ours
The Arab horses make the far near
The roads through the august mountain
are ours
Our sword is Kirmani on our waist
The head of my spear pierces the stone
There is imperial command about us
The command is emperor’s, mountains
are ours
Dadaloğlu makes fight tomorrow
Rifles ring, paddleboxes are played
Such braves fall down
Some die, the survivors are ours
I saw a beautiful in Avşar
She migrates through her silk
She’s tinged her foot and head with
henna
She has tresses her hyacinth auburn
hair
She praises herself every morning
Her golden hair reaches to her foot
Only her eyebrows and eyes are worth
Crown of the throne of Acem
Dadaloğlu, her red cheek and rose
Her hair smells fragrant
Thin waist coquettish lover
I shall wait for a few years for you