To Taksala

To send my son to Taksala,

The left side of the pants is torn,

The sole of the black shoes is worn out,

The fire in my stomach is rising,

The water in my son's stomach is rising,

Oh, give me a teacher,

The son's aghahi is closed,

Nattami, you are my father,

He is standing in the sun,

In his arms full of

He is carrying a heavy load,

He is taking a smoke of grass (marijuana),

He is going to smoke it,

He is trying not to smoke,

His heart is racing,

In his clothes that are very worn out,

He is wearing a lot of clothes taken

Thinking about their future