El pobre con su guitarra
Va cantando sus miserias,
No hay en su canto alegría
Porque el hombre es cosa seria.
El rico es raza de cuervo
Y nunca canta sus penas,
Tal vez será que haga mal
Cantar de barriga llena.
Hay arriba de un gran cerro
Una virgen milagrera;
Abajo un pueblo esperando
Pero el milagro no llega.
Con ésta mi coplíta,
Voy por cerros y llanuras,
Y si en la iglesia la cantan
Yo prometo hacerme cura.
Y si en la iglesia la cantan
Yo prometo hacerme cura.
El pobre pasa la vida
Trabajando, trabajando,
Pa que otro se vuelve rico,
Descansando, descansando.
El rico pasa la vida
Descansando, descansando,
Pa que otro se vuelve pobre
Trabajando, trabajando.
Si mentir es un pecado
Con rezos se va pagando,
Será por eso que el cura
Se pasa el dia rezando.
Con esta mi coplerita
Voy por cerros y llanuras,
Y si en la iglesia la cantan,
Yo prometo hacerme cura.
Y si en la iglesia la cantan,
Yo prometo hacerme cura.
Va cantando sus miserias,
No hay en su canto alegría
Porque el hombre es cosa seria.
El rico es raza de cuervo
Y nunca canta sus penas,
Tal vez será que haga mal
Cantar de barriga llena.
Hay arriba de un gran cerro
Una virgen milagrera;
Abajo un pueblo esperando
Pero el milagro no llega.
Con ésta mi coplíta,
Voy por cerros y llanuras,
Y si en la iglesia la cantan
Yo prometo hacerme cura.
Y si en la iglesia la cantan
Yo prometo hacerme cura.
El pobre pasa la vida
Trabajando, trabajando,
Pa que otro se vuelve rico,
Descansando, descansando.
El rico pasa la vida
Descansando, descansando,
Pa que otro se vuelve pobre
Trabajando, trabajando.
Si mentir es un pecado
Con rezos se va pagando,
Será por eso que el cura
Se pasa el dia rezando.
Con esta mi coplerita
Voy por cerros y llanuras,
Y si en la iglesia la cantan,
Yo prometo hacerme cura.
Y si en la iglesia la cantan,
Yo prometo hacerme cura.
Contributed by Alessandro - 2010/3/17 - 14:06
Language: English
Traduzione inglese da “Cancion Protesta: Protest Songs of Latin America”, a cura di Barbara Dane, Paredon Records, 1970.
THE POOR AND THE RICH
Poor people with their guitars
Usually sing of their misery.
In their songs, not too much joy;
Hunger’s a serious thing.
The rich are a race like the crow,
No voice to sing of their sorrows.
Maybe it's too hard to sing,
Bellies stuffed full to the bursting.
There is on top of the hill
A mirac1e-working virgin;
Below, the people awaiting
Miracles that never come!
With this, my little song,
I go through hills and through valleys;
If ever it’s sung in church,
I swear I'll become a priest!
If ever it’s sung in church,
I swear I'll become a priest!
The poor man spends his whole life
Working and working and working,
So that some other gets rich
Shirking and shirking and shirking.
The rich man spends his whole life
Loafing and loafing and loafing,
So that some other gets poor,
Laboring, laboring, lab'ring.
If it's a sin to be lying,
Prayer is a way to be paying.
Maybe that’s why all the priests
Seem to spend all day in praying!
With this, my little song,
I go through hills and through valleys,
If ever it’s sung in church,
I swear I'll become a priest!
If ever it’s sung in church,
I swear I'll become a priest!
Poor people with their guitars
Usually sing of their misery.
In their songs, not too much joy;
Hunger’s a serious thing.
The rich are a race like the crow,
No voice to sing of their sorrows.
Maybe it's too hard to sing,
Bellies stuffed full to the bursting.
There is on top of the hill
A mirac1e-working virgin;
Below, the people awaiting
Miracles that never come!
With this, my little song,
I go through hills and through valleys;
If ever it’s sung in church,
I swear I'll become a priest!
If ever it’s sung in church,
I swear I'll become a priest!
The poor man spends his whole life
Working and working and working,
So that some other gets rich
Shirking and shirking and shirking.
The rich man spends his whole life
Loafing and loafing and loafing,
So that some other gets poor,
Laboring, laboring, lab'ring.
If it's a sin to be lying,
Prayer is a way to be paying.
Maybe that’s why all the priests
Seem to spend all day in praying!
With this, my little song,
I go through hills and through valleys,
If ever it’s sung in church,
I swear I'll become a priest!
If ever it’s sung in church,
I swear I'll become a priest!
Contributed by Alessandro - 2010/3/17 - 14:13
×
![]()
Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.
Dall’album di debutto, intitolato semplicemente “Los Olimareños”
Testo di Carlos Porrini
Musica di Los Olimareños
"... Con questa mia canzoncina me ne vado per monti e valli, e se la cantano in chiesa, giuro che mi faccio prete!..."