The buck passes on and on and on
This is the Indian culture and
This is how congress was born
The people in India are dying hungry
No one is bothered, no one is angry
They are digging their grave
Pretending to plant a tree
They are fooling the people
And make them believe
That they are actually planting a tree
The innocent people wait endlessly in hope
That they will eat the sweet fruit
That will grow on the tree.
First it was Indian national congress
Born with dream for freedom of Indians
And their welfare and progress
It then split to multipartite viruses
For selfish interests and personal gains
Not seeing the people crying in pain
The buck passes on and on and on
This is the Indian culture and
This is how congress was born
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