His pouch is made of velvet, his voice comes from cafe*
Sits there gambling
Oh the corner of my lung*
Oh, send it to Beyoğlu, send it
Baby, send it to İstanbul
Send it, love, send it
Your eyes, my birdie, look down
When they turn (on the other side) and see me
In my heart, oh, in my heart they slaughter me
I dont have velvet pillow
I've never gone to your room
I would put my hand on the book*
I have no other friend*
Oh, send it to Beyoğlu, send it
Baby, send it to İstanbul
Send it, love, send it