Kerbside Cuisine
You’ll find us on the pavements from Durban to the Strand
We are informal traders and you must understand
We don’t have fancy fittings, we don’t have any frills
We don’t have a licence and we don’t have any tills
CHORUS:
But take a chance, take a chance, it isn’t Cordon Bleu
We don’t use a recipe, so it’s always something new
Take a chance, take a chance with our pavement gastronomy
If it doesn’t makes you kots my mate, youse a better ou than me
From afval to bananas, from smokes to lemonade
From Bronkhostspruit to Belville, we ply our pavement trade
From bags of papvrot naartjies, to dog meat boerewors
Just try our pies with extra flies, all third grade, of course
CHORUS
We have Salmonella burgers and hotdogs with Ptomaine
Rancid chips and toxic dips straight out of the drain
We’ll sell you muti, guns or buns through our informal ventures
Diamonds, biltong, bunny chows or even pre-owned dentures
CHORUS
Our boiled sheep’s head’s a winner, our chicken feet, superb
If you eat lots you’ll get the trots, right here on the kerb
Anything from bits of string to drugs and used suspenders
Alles vuil is up for sale, we are your sidewalk vendors
CHORUS
We cause much congestion, and we litter up the joint
We don’t care for regulations, hell man, what would be the point?
We are the New South Africa’s free enterprise solution
But what we feed just proves you need, a helse constitution
CHORUS
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