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Rogaciano el Huapanguero

La Huasteca esta de luto, se murió su Huapanguero
Ya no se oye aquel falsete, que es el alma del trovero
Rogaciano se llamaba, Rogaciano el Huapanguero
Eran sones de la sierra, las canciones del trovero
La Azucena y la Cecilia, lloran, lloran sin consuelo
Malagueña salerosa, ya se fue, tu pregonero
El cañal esta en su punto, hoy comienza la molienda
El Trapiche esta de duelo, y suspira en cada vuelta
Por los verdes cafetales, mas allá de aquel potrero
Hay quien dice que de noche, se aparece El Huapanguero
La Azucena y la Cecilia, lloran, lloran sin consuelo
Malagueña salerosa, ya se fue, tu pregonero

Rogaciano the Huapanguero

The Huasteca is in mourning, its Huapanguero has died
No longer is that falsetto heard, the soul of the troubadour
His name was Rogaciano, Rogaciano the Huapanguero
They were songs from the mountains, the songs of the troubadour
La Azucena and La Cecilia, they weep, they weep inconsolably
Malagueña salerosa, your crier is gone
The cane field is at its peak, the harvest begins today
The sugar mill is in mourning, and sighs with each turn
Through the green coffee plantations, beyond that pasture
Some say that at night, the Huapanguero appears
La Azucena and La Cecilia, they weep, they weep inconsolably
Malagueña salerosa, your crier is gone