لَنا أَميرٌ قرنُهُ
يَنطَحُ في الأُفقِ الفَلَك
Our prince has horns
That gore the horizon’s heavenly sphere,
سِبالُهُ وَذَقنُهُ
تَدخُلُ في اِستِ امِّ بَلَك
His whiskers and beard
Penetrate the deepest of valleys.
عَطاؤُهُ وَطَعنُهُ
ما غَيرُ دَقّ بِالحَنَك
His gifts and his stabs
Are no gentler than a slap in the face.
فَهوَ الذُنابى أَبَداً
في أَيَّما جَيشٍ سَلَك
He’s a fox eternally
No matter what army he leads.
كَأَنَّهُ في قَلعَةِ ال
بيرَةِ صَيّادُ السَمَك
It’s as though in his mountain citadel
He's a fisherman catching fish.
