Letras

Bazaar (Cambalache)

Letra: Enrique Santos Discépolo | Música: Enrique Santos Discépolo |

That the world has been and will be rubbish, I know.

On the five hundred and six and the two thousand, too.

That there’s always been chorros, maquiavelos  and estafaos,

Happy and sad, men and dublés.

But that the twentieth century is a display of insolent maldá,

No one denies it.

We live revolcaos in a meringue

And in the same mud all manoseaos.

It seems today that it’s the same

To be straight or a traitor,

Ignorant, wise, chorro, generous or swindler…

Everything’s the same! Nothing’s better!

The same a donkey that a great professor.

There’s no aplazaos or promotion list,

The ignorants have igualao.

If you live on a fraud

And another one steals on his ambition,

It’s the same if he’s a priest,

A mattress maker, the ace of clubs,

Caradura or polizón.

What a lack of respect, what a reason’s affront!

Anybody’s a sir, anybody’s a thief…

Mezclao (mixed) with Stavisnsky

Don Bosco goes and La Mignon,

Don Chicho and Napoleon,

Carnera and San Martín…

And in the non respectful shop window

Of the cambalaches

Life has mezclao,

And wounded by a sword you see the Bible

Crying next to a boiler.

Twentieth century, cambalache, problematic and feverish…

The one that doesn’t cry doesn’t breast-feed

And the one that doesn’t afana (steals) is a gil

Come on…! Come on…!

That over there in the Oven we’re gonna meet…!

Don’t think anymore; sit down by a lao,

That no one cares if you were born honrao… (Honest)

It’s the same one that who labura (works) night and day like a dog,

Or one that lives from others, one that kills, or that heals,

Or to be outside the law…

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