يا اِبنَ الحِمارَةِ لِلحِمارِ وَإِنَّما

تَلِدُ الحِمارَةُ وَالحِمارُ حِمارا

Oh son of a donkey she-ass, the donkey begets but an ass

Though a man were to walk wrapped in prestige tomorrow

وَلَوَ أَنَّ أَلأَمَ مَن مَشى يُكسى غَداً

ثَوباً لَرُحتَ وَقَد كُسيتَ إِزارا

He'd walk as thou walk naked, clutching thy sash to thy thighs

Thy manhood, which thou pridest, has given thee naught

كَلَمَت مُروءَتُكَ الَّتي تُعنى بِها

لَو جادَ سَرجُكَ وَاِستَجَدَّ عِذارا

Though thy saddle were jeweled and golden its stirrup