The Pigeons pick at the puddles of sick
Strewn across the floor
The multicoloured stains of takeaway remains
From the night before

I see a lump of sodden pitta, congealed in a putrid slab
I see the half-digested, maggot-infested, remnants of a kebab!

Kebab! I can't control these cravings!
Kebab! Oh, just give me some shavings!
I don't care if it's made, from dead rat
Do you want some chilli-sauce with that?

From the dodgy pubs and nightclubs
Out pour legions of lads
All looking to fill their stomach swill
With a juicy kebab

But if the ratio isn't right, between the beer and bile
You'll get ill from it, and probably vomit, on the bus all down the isle!

Kebab! I can't control these cravings!
Kebab! Oh, just give me some shavings!
I don't care if it's made, from diseased cat
Do you want some chilli-sauce with that?

As I stand in the que, licking my lips
Hearing the sweet hiss of frying chips
I watch the revolving, pillar of meat
Awe-struck by this culinary feat
And I wonder if the salad was ever once fresh
And whether they breed animals with cylindrical flesh

It must be one of nature's, strangest creatures
With no limbs, organs, or facial features
In fact I was reading Plato, just the other week
And found a reference to it in ancient Greek
Apparently the kebab was a mythological beast
Renowned by the poets as "humanity's finest feast!"

Kebab! I can't control these cravings!
Kebab! Oh, just give me some shavings!
I don't care if it's made, from cancerous bat
Do you want some chilli-sauce with that?

Oh, how I wish for a shish
Oh, how I wanna doner