Текст и перевод песни Aníbal Troilo & Francisco Fiorentino - Con Toda la Voz Que Tengo

Con Toda la Voz Que Tengo

Al compás de la milonga,
Ya que llegó la ocasión,
Voy a cantarle al varón
Que de compadre rezonga.
A la sensible chilonga,
Que es para todo un resorte,
Que es para todo un resorte,
Al tango pero con corte
Que se va quebrando un poco,
Y que lo hace volver loco
Al mozo del sur y del norte.

A la casita compadre,
Que le da el sol de arrabal,
Al vestido de percal
Y al chisme de la comadre.
Al besito de la madre
Que le da al hijo bandido,
Que le da al hijo bandido,
Al que le alague el oído
Con un consejo bien sano,
A la pobre hija del tano
Que no volvió más al nido.

Al amigo que respeta
Y que se hace respetar,
Al que se pone a pensar,
Si ve triste a una pebeta.
Al intuitivo poeta,
Que aunque viva sin un cobre,
Que aunque viva sin un cobre,
Una palabra le sobre
Para decir en su canto,
Que también tiene su encanto
Un baile, en un barrio pobre.

Al matecito espumoso
Que me dan donde yo voy.
Pa'l que sea como yo soy,
Con el enfermo amoroso.
Al que no se haga el gracioso
Ni se tire a la bartola,
Ni se tire a la bartola,
Con la galleguita Lola
De mi suburbio porteño,
Que vive buscando dueño
Pero que siempre anda sola.

With All the Voice That I Have

To the beat of the milonga,
Now that the occasion has arrived,
I'm going to sing to the man
Who grumbles like a godfather.
To the sensitive chilonga,
Which is a spring for all,
Which is a spring for all,
To the tango, but with a cut
That is breaking a little,
And that drives you crazy
To the boy from the south and the north.

To the little house, my friend,
Which the sun of the suburb gives,
To the percale dress
And to the gossip of the gossip.
To the kiss of the mother
That she gives to her outlaw son,
That she gives to her outlaw son,
To the one who flatters his ear
With a little healthy advice,
To the poor daughter of the Italian
Who never returned to the nest.

To the friend who respects himself
And who makes himself respected,
To the one who sets out to think,
If he sees a little girl sad.
To the intuitive poet,
Who even though he lives without a penny,
Who even though he lives without a penny,
A word is enough for him
To say in his song,
That a dance also has its charm
In a poor neighborhood.

To the foamy little mate tea
That they give me where I go.
For someone like me,
With the loving invalid.
To the one who doesn't play the fool
Or throw himself into laziness,
Or throw himself into laziness,
With the little Spanish girl Lola
From my neighborhood in Buenos Aires,
Who lives looking for a master
But who always goes it alone.