Paroles et traduction Roberto Goyeneche - De Que Te Quejas

De Que Te Quejas

De qué te quejás, muchacho
No entiendo tu rebeldía,
Ni esa falta de alegría
Que te hace estar amargao;
Mirá si yo de purrete
Hubiera visto un cachito,
De lo que vos "cancherito"
Sobrador, dejás pasar.
Cuando pienso que mis viejos
Me dieron lo que pudieron,
Y yo me largué a la lucha
Con toda el alma, mirá!
Cierro los puños, la pucha
Y me dan ganas 'é gritarte,
Por ellos, por vos, por algo
Que hacés... que no trabajás.
Si vos vieras qué contenta
Se pone el alma cuando uno,
Sabe que es útil al cielo
Así mismo, a los demás;
Sonreí... que eso no asusta
Bordá un canto a tu pañuelo,
Y si igual nada te gusta
Entonces sí... te matás.
De qué te quejás, muchacho
Contra quién van tus aullidos,
Es que en casa no ha podido
Prestarte el coche "papá";
Otra vez no ha comprendido
Tus derechos de atrevido,
Y no te ha puesto los mangos
Que pone siempre "mamá".
Está bien... quedate piola
Dejá que yuguen los giles,
Pero cuidao que la bola
Un día puede parar;
Y al sentir tu vida sola
Sin un sentimiento humano,
A quien llamarás, hermano
En ese triste final.
Si vos vieras qué contenta
Se pone el alma cuando uno,
Sabe que es útil al cielo
Así mismo, a los demás;
Sonreí... que eso no asusta
Bordá un canto a tu pañuelo,
Y si igual nada te gusta
Entonces sí... te matás.

What Are You Complaining About

What are you complaining about, boy
I don't understand your rebellion,
Nor that lack of joy
That makes you bitter;
Look at me, if I were a kid
I would have seen a tiny bit
Of what you "suave"
Proud, let go of.
When I think that my old folks
Gave me what they could,
And I went into the fight
With all my soul, look!
I clench my fists, damn it
And I want to scream at you,
For them, for you, for something
That you do... that you are not working.
If you could see how happy
The soul becomes when one,
Knows that he is useful to heaven
Likewise, to others;
Smile... that it doesn't scare
Embroider a song on your handkerchief,
And if nothing else pleases you
Then yes... kill yourself.
What are you complaining about, boy
Against whom are your howls going,
Is it that at home you couldn't
Borrow the car "Dad";
Another time he didn't understand
Your rights of daring,
And he didn't give you the loot
That "mom" always gives.
Fine... stay cool
Let the fools play,
But beware that the ball
It may stop one day;
And when you feel your life alone
Without a human feeling,
Whom will you call, brother
In that sad end.
If you could see how happy
The soul becomes when one,
Knows that he is useful to heaven
Likewise, to others;
Smile... that it doesn't scare
Embroider a song on your handkerchief,
And if nothing else pleases you
Then yes... kill yourself.