Wherever you may be
In the city or in the plains
You will always meet
The rowdy Kenkoy

There he is, echoing his coming
His loose, ill-fitting pants
There he is, like a fool
His footsteps loud and droning

Ouch! Oh dear! Kenkoy!
Be silent!

With even his forehead shaved,
Ever-changing, ambling
The roads sing as you walk,
In English, foreign with no real words
(And with a ukulele!)

Greet him! How are you?
And he replies, “Well, see for yourself!
I speak no Tagalog.”
Oh dear, oh dear, Kenkoy.

And Kenkoy is known
In all of the feasts 
With his ukulele in hand 
Amidst your revelry, he sings 

There he is dancing 
His body a collection of movements 
With spit fountaining from his lips 
As he ceaselessly groans. 

Ouch! Oh dear! Kenkoy. 
You! Be silent! 

With even his forehead shaved, 
Ever-changing, ambling 
The roads sing as you walk, 
In English, foreign with no real words 
(And with a ukulele!) 

Greet him! How are you? 
And he replies, “Well, see for yourself! 
Hey, I speak no Tagalog.” 
Oh dear, oh dear, Kenkoy.