Paroles et traduction Antonio Aguilar - La del Morral

La del Morral

Ay, ay, ay vieja huarachuda
Pata rajada, talón agrietado, presumida
Te pintas el cachete con pedazos de papel de china colorado
Y bienes a presumir de que usas bilé

Llegaste el año pasado
Yo te vi llegar descalza
Traías un morral cargando
Cuando venias de tu casa
Ahora andas apantallando
Y alborotando a la raza

Traías la trenza en la espalda
Con moñitos adornada
Ya te pelaste a navaja
Pareces mulata usada
Y ahora andas de minifalda
Ya traes la zanja pelada

Ya ni escuchas el pitido
De mi carro de camotes
Tal vez algún individuo
Te paso pitando en coche
Ya cambiaste el morralito
Por una bolsa de broche

Ahora que ya traías zapatos
Te volviste removiera
Ya le disté tu retrato
A un hijo de la portera
Pero él no te hecha ni un lazo
Por que eres re callejera

Cuando fuiste pa' tu rancho
Dijiste que eras artista
Que ya te habían hecho estrella
En un teatro de revista
Y que un productor te espera
Por qué te trae en su lista

¿Sabes?, necesitas sirvienta

Ya ni escuchas el pitido
De mi carro de camotes
Tal vez algún individuo
Te paso pitando en coche
Ya cambiaste el morralito
Por una bolsa de broche

The One with the Saddlebag

Oh, oh, oh old lady with broken sandals
Cracked heels, haughty
You paint your face with bits of red tissue paper
And you pretend to use lipstick

You arrived last year
I saw you arrive barefoot
You were carrying a saddlebag
When you came from your house
Now you're trying to impress everyone
And making a scene among the people

You had a braid down your back
Adorned with ribbons
Now you've shaved your head
You look like a used mulatto
And now you wear a miniskirt
Your cleavage is showing

You don't even hear the whistle
Of my sweet potato truck
Maybe some guy
Drove by and whistled at you in his car
You changed your little saddlebag
For a purse with a clasp

Now that you have shoes
You've become a flirt
You've already given your photo
To the janitor's son
But he doesn't even give you a glance
Because you're a streetwalker

When you went back to your village
You said you were an artist
That they had made you a star
In a burlesque theater
And that a producer was waiting for you
Because he has you on his list

You know you need a maid

You don't even hear the whistle
Of my sweet potato truck
Maybe some guy
Drove by and whistled at you in his car
You changed your little saddlebag
For a purse with a clasp