Paroles et traduction La Arrolladora Banda el Limón de René Camacho - Ramiro Sierra

Ramiro Sierra

La nieve estaba cayendo, los pinos se congelaban
En el risco del madroño, unas armas apuntaban
Sólo las plumas de nieve, aquellas miras nublaban

Se oye rugir un novillo, que venía con la manada
Y los cascos del caballo del señor que las arreaba
Ramiro dejó la bestia, mientras el risco rodeaba

El caballo era un criollito pero muy bien arrendado
Por eso sin su jinete, supo él arrear el ganado
Ramiro estaba orgulloso, de su retinto Dosalvo

Les dijo Ramiro Sierra, aquí no se engaña a nadie
Yo sólo vine a cobrarles la muerte de mi compadre
Y a recoger el ganado que le robaron cobardes

(Y arriba el Rosario, Sinaloa, compa)

Eran seiscientos novillos, también ganado lechero
Por eso lo codiciaban esos malditos cuatreros
Más no sabían que Ramiro les iba a rajar el cuero

Calibre dos veintitrés, que bonito cacareabas
Se confundían los quejidos con el mugir de las vacas
Y los cejos de la sierra está balada grababan

Adiós retinto Dosalvo, siempre serás el primero
Ya murió don Pablo Chávez, aquel rico ganadero
Ojalá que haya en el cielo, siga cerrando becerros

Ramiro Sierra

The snow was falling, the pines were freezing
On the cliff of the madroño, some weapons were pointing
Only the feathers of snow, those sights clouded

I hear a steer roaring, that came with the herd
And the hooves of the horse of the lord who drove them
Ramiro left the beast, while he surrounded the cliff

The horse was a criollito but very well rented
That's why without its rider, he knew how to drive the cattle
Ramiro was proud, of his reddish Dosalvo

Ramiro Sierra told them, you don't fool anyone here
I only came to collect the death of my friend
And to collect the cattle that you stole cowards

(And up the Rosario, Sinaloa, buddy)

They were six hundred steers, also dairy cattle
That's why those cursed rustlers coveted them
But they didn't know that Ramiro was going to slit their leather

Caliber two twenty-three, how beautifully you cackled
The moans were confused with the bellow of the cows
And they recorded the shots on the peaks of the mountains

Goodbye reddish Dosalvo, you will always be the first
Mr. Pablo Chávez is dead, that rich rancher
I hope that in heaven, he keeps closing calves