Twelve drops his cigar

Twelve drops his cigar, ; The little brown girl reaches out her arm for it, ; Pick it up, little girl, pick up my cigar, ; I will earn your good will. ; ; The good mother says to her daughter, ; Make a bed for (the) twelve-year-old boy. ; Because the boy marches all day, ; The cakompak breaks his weak shoulders. ; ; The autumn breeze sways the flower, ; The pain saddens my heart. ; Here I must leave my lover, my baby, ; We must defend our wide Hungarian homeland.