Lyrics and translation Carlos Gardel - El Bulin de la Calle Ayacucho - Remastered

El Bulin de la Calle Ayacucho - Remastered

El bulín de la calle Ayacucho
Que en mis tiempos de rana alquilaba
El bulín que la barra buscaba
Para caer por la noche a timbear
El bulín donde tantos muchachos
En su racha de vida fulera
Encontraron marroco y catrera
Rechiflado parece llorar

El primus no me faltaba
Con su carga de aguardiente
Y habiendo agua caliente
El mate era allí señor
No faltaba la guitarra
Bien encordada y lustrosa
Ni el bacán de voz gangosa
Con berretín de cantor

Cotorrito mistongo tirado
En el fondo de aquel conventillo
Sin alfombras, sin lujo, sin brillo
Cuántos días felices pasé
Al calor del querer de una piba
Que fue mía, mimosa y sincera
Y una noche de invierno fulera
En un vuelo hacia el cielo se fue

Cada cosa era un recuerdo
Que la vida me amargaba
Por eso me la pasaba
Cabrero, rante y tristón
Los muchachos se cortaron
Al verme tan afligido
Y yo me quedé en el nido
Empollando mi aflicción

Y el bulín de la calle Ayacucho
Ha quedado mistongo y fulero
Ya no se oye al cantor milonguero
Engrupido su musa entonar
En el primus no bulle la pava
Que a la barra contenta reunía
El bacán de la rante alegría
Está seco de tanto llorar

The Dive on Ayacucho Street - Remastered

The dump of Ayacucho Street
That in my frog days I rented
The dive the crew frequented
To drop by in the evening to gamble
The dive where so many boys
In their streak of rotten life
Found weed and a cot
It seems to be crying, out of its mind

I never lacked the Primus stove
With its load of firewater
And having hot water
The mate was the boss there
The guitar was never amiss
Well-strung and shiny
Nor the big shot with a raspy voice
With a bug up his butt about singing

Parakeet lying on its side, beat
At the bottom of that tenement
Without rugs, without luxury, without glitz
How many happy days I spent
In the warmth of the love of a chick
Who was mine, affectionate and sincere
And one lousy winter night
She flew up to the sky

Every little thing was a memory
That made my life bitter
That's why I spent my time
Drunk, pissed off, and sad
The boys cut themselves off
Seeing me so distressed
And I stayed in the nest
Brooding over my grief

And the dive on Ayacucho Street
Has become good-for-nothing and lousy
You can't hear the tango singer anymore
Tricked into singing his muse
The kettle doesn't boil on the Primus stove
That used to gather the happy crew
The big shot with the grandiose joy
Is dried up from all the crying