Paroles et traduction Francisco Canaro - Murió el Malevo

Murió el Malevo

El barrio rezonga... ha muerto el malevo

Que triste y callado quedó el arrabal

La noche parece vestirse de duelo

Y tiembla la sangre que enluta un puñal

Pensar que un mocoso, de puro atrevido
Buscó madrugarlo p'hacerse cartel
Y en cuanto el malevo tanteaba el cuchillo
Tenía hasta el mango clavado el de él

Lo vieron plantado, guapear sin alardes
Jugarse una carta de frente a un rival
Copando el cariño de dos ojos negros

Manojos de celos del viejo arrabal
La Tierra del Fuego no pudo domarle
Diez años de cárcel su hombrada pagó
Su pobre viejita, de tanto llorarlo
Mordiendo su angustia, de pena murió

La cortada lloró sangre y apretándose la herida
Fue boqueando en su agonía por el viejo callejón

Ni una mano, ni un amigo le llegó a cerrar los ojos
Ni unos tibios labios rojos le rezaron un ¡adiós!
Pobre guapo lo achuraron como a res de matadero
Y hoy a cada conventillo llega un cacho de emoción
En la ronda de un boliche va entonándose un garguero
Mientras cuenta alguna hazaña del malevo que murió

The Bad Boy Died

The neighborhood whispers... the bad boy died

The suburbs are so sad and silent now

The night seems to be dressed in mourning

And the blood that mourns a dagger trembles

To think that a child, purely bold
Wanted to catch him early to make a name for himself
And as soon as the bad boy touched the knife
His was thrust through to the hilt

They saw him planted, bullying without bragging
Playing a card face-to-face with a rival
Occupying the affection of two black eyes

Jealous bundles of the old neighborhood
The Land of Fire could not tame him
He paid for his honorable ten years in prison
His poor old mother, died of grief from crying so much for him
Biting her anguish, died of sorrow

The cut cried blood and, clutching the wound
Was gasping in its agony for the old street

Not a hand, not a friend came to close his eyes
Not a single warm, red lip prayed a goodbye to him!
Poor handsome guy, they crushed him like cattle in a slaughterhouse
And today every tenement is flooded with sadness
In the round of a bowling alley, a throat is being tuned
While someone tells a story of the bad boy that died