My songs
The song was born from the people for the dance
for the dance, the dance, the dance.
Songs from the Betis riverbank,
la Coria and Puebla, rocieras,1
gypsy the ones of Sanlucar de Barrameda
Songs from the Huelva's marshes,
the marsh and Rocio songs,
and in the Alkarife, Gines with its tradition.
And in the whole Spain, to the sound of the songs
the spanish women dance by corraleras, 2
when my Seville sings
beautiful spring tonadillas.
-----------------------------------------------
Seville
Seville, Seville, Seville
You made me in the cradle,
there won't be more fortune nor greater madness than
being your son, Seville.
You sang to me songs,
there won't be a mermaid nor brown-skinned woman that
sings better, Seville.
The Goddess, the exquisite queen
the most beautiful gypsy
that mankind saw being born. Seville.
-----------------------------------------------
My stand
I want the castanets
to sound in my stand.
And my friends to sing and dance,
and forget the sadness, OLE,
and the guitars to sound and the party to not die.
And welcome to whoever bring us
charm and joy, OLE
and keep the party alive with art and harmony.
That's the way it is, my April fair,
and no lack of charm can change it,
Seville is glory, as if by magic.
-----------------------------------------------
The bullfight
Heaven is playing the bugles,
the national party makes commotion.
Archangels as bailiffs
and on the gang yard,
the bullfighters are queuing up,
their suits are of glory color
with stars.
Six white bulls of peace,
for Granero and Joselito,
Manolete and Bienvenida,
Paquirri and the young Yiyo,
what a bullfight poster!
And next to the barrier
the Virgin of Hope of Macarena
between Lorca and Juan Belmonte,
they're shouting TORERO
to the sound of a pasodoble.
-----------------------------------------------
Andalusian carnivals
How pretty! How pretty! How pretty!
Somebody told us that some comparsas
with charm and joking around they say
why do foreigners sing to Cadiz
like if we were russians, americans or brazilians.
We're andalusians and long live the south, OLE.
Alhambra, mosque, Santa Cruz neighborhood,
being Andalusia what else matters.
If we live under the same sky
I love Cadiz and this is it,
don't mess with me fellow
that we are brothers of light and sun.
This is Carnival! This is Carnival!
This is Carnival! This is Carnival!
By Malaga's Alameda 3
confetti and streamers,
beautiful goddess of the seas,
and the art of Isla Cristina,
carnivals of the seas.
Puerto de Santa María,
even the very Guadalete
dresses up and San Fernando
with Barbate and Algeciras
sings and dances like a comprarsa.
We have to die in Cadiz
we gotta see the partying
and what a natural charm
has the people of Cadiz
with the chaos of their carnival.
¡GUANAMINO, EEEEEH!
-----------------------------------------------
The tonadilla
The tonadilla was born in Spain
between fans and castanets.
And it traveled very elegant through the world
and a comb
was talking about Triana or violets
Seville and la Barqueta.
Mrs Concha4 put a crown on it,
Queen that is Juana, 5
Marifé, the most sevillian lineage
and the Santiago6 from Jerez
And who says it's dead
if there's Veneno to sing it,
Martirio, my God, Martirio
tonadilla, sunglasses
and the affront of La Lirio
-----------------------------------------------
Guys
He was born in image and likeness of Adam
and the heart of Eve
and he carries it proudly.
And he dreams with a man
who loves him and understands him,
and protects him,
without chains nor bars.
He is like that, he dreams like that,
he thinks like that, he was born like that,
and that's how his heart beats,
loving is not a sin
because even God loved.
-----------------------------------------------
I always think of you
I think of you,
I think of you, woman.
I think of you,
farmer and rural,
graduated and teacher,
university girl,
I think of you, woman.
I think of you,
you who are single mother,
young worker,
and in you, queen of the home,
I think of you, woman.
And I see you singing to your child
"my little baby sleep
or the boogeyman will get you"
I always think of you.
-----------------------------------------------
Life
Life.
The alarm clock rings
with smell of coffee,
I take a shower, I shave
the dawn is singing,
I go to work, goodbye home.
Maria stays
combing the children
who have school
like every day.
She dreams a fantasy Sunday.
And dreams of her favorite story,
spins and dreams, dreams and spins, life.
-----------------------------------------------
Careful
Careful. Careful. Careful.
I'm careful with my people,
I'm careful with my parents, careful,
I'm always careful with who loves me well.
I'm careful with my friends,
and with my enemies too, careful,
and with that girl who dies for me.
Life backfires on you
you gotta keep the look
and the heart alerted
Careful, careful with all around you.
-----------------------------------------------
The crack era
Maria comes running by the sidewalks,
she's chased by two little pickpockets,
yes, pickpockets
Life is going bad
We live on the crack era!
María, I keep your heavenly smile.
Drugs, drugs will kill
half mankind, María.
I keep going with my puchero,
my cocido and my meat paste.
-----------------------------------------------
Seville of yesterday
Stones, solid stones
nailed over the dirty floor,
skinny dogs playing, blue sky,
the neighbors screaming, almost for nothing
and they live the weekly novel
and paint the courtyards for the night out,
the grandfathers playing with the card deck,
girls, the installment seller came with his basket,
full of white dishes and bed trousseau.
On San Leandro, they ring around the Rosie,
all the girls of San Esteban
and in San Bernardo,
the neighborhood boys play to be bullfighters.
Through the road the streetcars cross,
the street Oriente, who would say it!,
and to Cruzcampo,
the Via Crucis of a saint people come.
Seville of yesterday,
that time stole
Seville went away
to sleep with the legends
of its old neighborhoods
and its simplicity.
-----------------------------------------------
Triana
The gypsies of la Cava,
potters, the Cachorro,7
Betis street, río-río,
Altozano, Juan Belmonte,
Soleá, Virgin of Hope,
the courtyards, bulería,
my Triana, what a joy
(Recited)
And in Seville, Triana,
the one of green color by the shore of its river,
by the green Simpecao8 of the Virgin of the Rocío,
and because if the green, green, is the color of Hope,
Triana of green has even the soul dressed,
green cloak, green mantle, of my pretty Marinera,
Triana is of color green, green as its flag.
Triana, Triana, Triana.
Of bell ringers
and of nazarenes and brown-skinned Christs that
give me cold, Triana.
You give me spring,
sky of orange blossoms, courtyard parties that
are your arts, Triana.
Bullfighter, Rocio princess,
my sailing girl,
you'll make me fall in love, Triana.
-----------------------------------------------
Fishermen
Fishermen and sailors,
my guitar always prays for you.
From dry land,
I see the boats going offshore,
my song on the shore is dressed of sorrow.
Fishermen, sailors,
who gave their lives for a whirlwind,
black storms, so evil and murderous.
How brave one has to be!
to become a lover of that treacherous woman,
who makes you get confidence to backstab you later.
-----------------------------------------------
I like it all in you
All, all, all, I like it all in you.
Your way of looking, I like it all in you.
Your lips kissing, I like it all in you.
All, all, all, I like it all in you.
Your simple goodness, I like it all in you.
Your sexual body, I like it all in you.
All, all, all, I like it all in you.
And when you make love,
that yell that has no solution
when you finally fly.
All, all, I like it all in you.
-----------------------------------------------
Always mine
To make you mine, mine, mine, mine
I promised to the skies.
To settle down,
to quit the parties, the night binges,
the women troubles, brothels and clubs.
And I achieved it by devoting myself to you,
thinking of you, looking at you,
caressing you, only you.
And I made you mine, mine, mine, mine, always mine.
You're the bohemia of my joy
-----------------------------------------------
Love and pleasure
Don't confuse pleasure with love,
because both are on the same car.
Don't be so crazy, that you're wrong,
and after all, you can lose.
Girl, I don't want you to lie nor cheat on me,
I don't want more disdains nor snubness, no.
Because girl, I don't deserve it, you know,
and I have the key of your heart.
Fly if you want adventures.
Change the lock saying goodbye, dear.
-----------------------------------------------
Music box
Our life is a music box,
of music and poetry.
I've been criticized by my friends
and some people put me to one side
and my family was predicting
that there was no doubt of my insanity,
that I was crazy.
And for being crazy they despised us
the knowledgeable who made fun of our music,
music, music, music, music, music.
But in the shadows of a pentagram,
we sang, we fought together and so
the flowers of the songs they sowed
finally bloomed.
-----------------------------------------------
All alone
The Virgin of the Rocio told me to come to see her.
To come to see her,
when she's there alone, in her hermitage,
without claps nor parties, drums nor flutes,
White Dove of God, all alone.
To come to see her,
when she's still, in her hermitage,
without anybody waking her up, no rockets sounding,
White Dove of God, Rocío sleep.
Sleep, Rocío sleep. Sleep Dove of peace
in the blessed silence, Rocío, of your loneliness.
-----------------------------------------------
The theater
The theater finally lifts the curtains
and in the middle of a great silence, the actor shows up.
Today he's King Lear,
tomorrow Hamlet and yesterday Don Juan,
and sometimes a madman and others a robber.
He has to perform
"Life is a dream" or charming
Juliet or Melibea and love, and love.
Love and love,
his life among flying systems, wings
and the writings of a script,
and becoming again Antonio, Juan or Pedro
when the curtains go down.
-----------------------------------------------
Forgive me (from the brotherhood corner)
For the corrupt world,
for the damned war,
for my people and my town, Lord,
forgive me.
Christ of the Good Death,
of Blood or of Love,
of Health or Cachorro,
Dying Christ. Forgive me.
Christ in the cross for Seville,
who could remove your three nails of the wood
and who could cure your wounds, Nazarene. Forgive me.
And who could cut the thorns of your forehead,
I believe in you, forgive me,
for my people and my town, my Lord of Great Power.
-----------------------------------------------
Radio Votings
(Hostess voice)
They were Cantores de Hispalis
in his concert "The dance of love".
As always, on your favorite show
"La regañá tostaita"
where you can vote the prettiest sevillana,
the one of your neighborhood group
the one of your boyfriend or your nephew.
Here we have a new call. Hi.
(Voter voice)
Hello, hey, this is for voting?
(Hostess voice)
Yes sir. It's for voting.
From where are you calling?
It doesn't matter from where I call,
but write in a paper.
I vote for the Andalusian writers,
poets who write poems,
that become spring stanzas.
I vote for the the musicians who make dances,
with art of my Andalusia,
for the people to dance them with joy.
And I vote for who sings
and gives his soul for a song,
and I vote for the beauty
of our culture, Mr Host.
-----------------------------------------------
The Fair
Where are you going?, "to the fair"
The Giralda dressed of polka dots,
courted by gypsy bandits,
open the doors of the fair,
the April fair.
And Granada gets in with grace,
by the arm of the gypsy Sacromonte
and Huelva of marsh and Rocio,
and Malaga in the rump of a horse,
that Don Jerez de la Frontera rides.
Happy is "The Silver Cup",9
dancing with bullfighters of Cordoba,
Almería with frills of foam,
Jaen gets in singing with Linares,
Seville with its mother Andalusia.
Let's raise the hands,
that we're on fair and we gotta toast.
Seville is the host of friendship.
-----------------------------------------------
Andalusian land
The friendship of the southern towns
is a reality thanks to our mother
who takes care of us with love, Andalusia.
You made me in the cradle,
there won't be more fortune nor greater madness than
being your son, Andalusia.
You sang to me songs,
there won't be a mermaid nor brown-skinned woman that
sings better, Andalusia.
The Goddess, the exquisite queen
the most beautiful gypsy
that mankind saw being born. Andalusia.
(recited)
Andalusia, the beautiful dancer
who wins hearts in a full affront,
of well planted arms, of seductive hands,
of sensual arched waist, of pretty feet
that fly around the love bonfire,
where the people, gypsy of crystal beads and wide brimmed hats,
pretends her among his frills, he tries to win her heart
among scents of songs and sighs of castanets
and moans of guitars, and it makes it, and kisses her,
and makes her of its own, its own... oh! my girl Andalusia,
the beautiful dancer of love.
Dance. Dance of love.
