In plain words
Yaśōdā begs: "You who stole and scooped up and swallowed the curds fit for the churning-rod and the ghee that the good young women with long tresses had put by; you of fierce strength, who with your thighs and hands pushed down the two who came as twin marutam trees, of one mind and bent on harm: my father, before your sweet young smile that shows your pearls has fully come, with your thick, lovely locks swaying over your forehead, dance the ceṅkīrai for me once! Fighting bull of the herdsmen, dance, oh dance!"