Are you okay, my love, is everything fine?
Six (Sardines) in bread, without sauce
Let me hold your Rabouz
A backpack? No, fill them in two halves of bread
It's okay, just make it snappy
I feel full just by the smell of camphor odor
It's odd, odd how come your sandwiches are so delicious?
Even a praised person has flaws
Even hunger will fade
Better days are coming
If they were to come, it would have to come already
To hell with it, I wish it ill fortunate
Enough with asphalt Khadouj
I am only simplifying. I am in a rush, so be quick
My empty stomach is talking. I had breakfast for lunch
I am chewing gum bеcause of my hunger
Wak- Wak (crying out) of what my stomach has been going through and therе's more
They said: patience has limits
Even the vending cart bears "Lmroud"
Run to "Oum Kalthom" and tell her
-
Add more of the hot sauce, it's free, isn't it?!
Free for you, but in my case, it's worth a fortune
I want my share to be hot sauce, alors
The intestines will pay off
X2
Oh, there she is
Lala Khadouj, here she is
Where's she? There she is
Lala Khadouj
The one with the sandwich
The last person in a row at the market is in an unrequited love
The thurible's on fire
Cooking on charcoal
Acclimate with the smoke
Getting along with clients
The fresh fish's seller
My heart is soft
Tomato, oil
The sauce in a bidon
Handle me the union to cut it
I am crying while holding a squat position
Waiting for the sandwich
Chairs, toilets' seat
Like the colorful chicks that cost one Dirham
Don't you remember the first year in high-school
Satoph (short of Moustapha) released seven in the lesson
Brava, you've got a short-term memory
I totally forgot about this thing
Here take (money), deduct from it the soda and what I owe you from Thursday
Satoph is a pig (as one who is gluttonous) in the police
Khadouj standing at the vending cart
With you, a singer yet jobless
-
Add more of the hot sauce, it's free, isn't it?!
Free for you, but in my case, it's worth a fortune
I want my share to be hot sauce, alors alors
The intestines will pay off
X2
It's my intestines. I want them to cause a conflagration
It's my intestines. I could feed them frogs
It's my intestines. I could initiate a fight between them and back off
I could sew them, turn them into "Sififa" (half collar) and "Akadi"
Whose head looks like a spinning top. I could spin them into a string or a rope
Gift them to the firefighters, don't they need a long water hose
Give them to an illegal migrant to cross the sea like a tightrope walker
Gift them to me, myself and use them as chords for my "Sintir"
And balance its strings and sing "The Infidel Hunger" by Ziad
It's my intestines. I could hang the Sultan with them
I could make a whip and have 1666 adulators whipped
Have them attached to the upper two ends of a forked branch; (with that done) I will have a slingshot
Using only one rocket, I would catch two birds
I would consider them sardines, a little bit of sell and put them into the oven
I would feel full already and wouldn't come to you, Tokur
And now, add more of the hot sauce
The one with the sandwich
The last person in a row at the market is in an unrequited love
The thurible's on fire
Cooking on charcoal
Acclimate with the smoke
Getting along with clients
The fresh fish's seller
My heart is soft
Tomato, oil
The sauce in a bidon
Handle me the union to cut it
I am crying while holding a squat position
Waiting for the sandwich