Pan Comido - Juan d'Arienzo y Su Orquesta Típica Übersetzung ins Englische

Pan Comido

Sos un caído de la cuna, un pobre diablo, un maleta.
En los hándicaps corridos siempre quedaste parao.
Te has perdido el vento al póker porque no tenés carpeta
Y, sin embargo, en la vida nunca falta un buey corneta
Que haga correr la bolilla que sos un tigre mentao.
El hombre en pista liviana,
En barrosa y en pesada
Si tiene sangre en las venas
Jamás se debe achicar.
Y a vos te han visto hacer buches
Amainando en la parada.
Tendrás muy buenos aprontes,
Sos de mucha atropellada
Pero, en finales reñidos,
Sos maura, sabés temblar.
No servís pa′ acompañarme ni siquiera en la partida.
No tenés chance ninguna... Pa' mí que sos roncador.
Nunca marcaste buen tiempo, es muy pobre tu corrida.
Si no te abris en el codo se te mancas en la tendida.
Te falta más performance pa′ salir de perdedor.
Lo que uno sabe de viejo
A vos te falta, botija.
Sos potrillo de dos años,
Recién darás mucho sport,
Cuando andés como yo anduve
Como bola sin manija.
Tenés que nacer de nuevo
Para correrte una fija.
Y aunque te juegues el resto
No llegás al marcador.

Bread Eaten

You're a loser from the cradle, a poor devil, a bum.
In the handicaps run, you always ended up standing.
You missed the wind at poker because you had no folder
And yet, in life, there's always a bumbling fool
Who spreads the rumor that you're a famous tiger.
A man in a light race,
In muddy and heavy races
If he has blood in his veins
He should never shrink back.
And you've been seen to make excuses
Slowing down on the straightaway.
You may have very good starts,
You're very eager to start fast
But, in close races,
You're a Maura, you know how to tremble.
You're not good enough to join me, not even at the start.
You don't have a chance... It seems to me that you're just a loudmouth.
You never set a good time, your race is very poor.
If you don't open up on the curve, you'll get hurt on the straightaway.
You lack the performance to stop being a loser.
What you know as an old man
You lack, boy.
You're a two-year-old colt,
You'll only give a lot of sport,
When you've walked like I've walked
Like a ball without a handle.
You have to be born again
To run a fixed race.
And even if you bet the rest
You won't make it to the scoreboard.