Avshar tribes departed to migrate
The slowly moving ones are ours
Arabian horses make the distant closer
The roads breasting the lofty mounts are ours.
Our sword is at our waist, Kirmani
My spearhead pierces the stoney
The state enacted the order for us many
The order is ruler’s, the mountains are ours
Dadaloğlu, one day, a fight breaks out
The rifleshots heard, war drums beat
Many brave fellows fall to the ground
The Fallen ones pass away, the rest is ours.
