Capetonian in New York

I walk the streets at dawn with a wind that's far too cold.

These yellow cabs go rushing by, everyone so bold. Back home, the mountain hugs

the sky, and life moves at its pace. But here, the lights don't

ever sleep. It's a different kind of place. Chorus: I'm a Capetonian

in New York. Ja, a Capetonian in New York. I greet with

a howsit on the street. They stare like I just spoke in Greek.

I'm a Capetonian in New York. Verse two. I miss a braai on Saturday

and the seagulls on the shore. Bo-Kaap colors, taxi hooters echo in my