Текст и перевод песни 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 re tinto dosalbo

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, ésta balada grababan

Adiós re tinto dosalbo, 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 is falling, the pines were freezing
At the cliff of the madroño, some weapons were pointing
Only the feathers of the snow, clouded the view of those sights

You can hear a steer roar, it was coming with the herd
And the hooves of the horse, of the rider who was herding them
Ramiro left his beast as he circled the cliff

The horse was an untrained colt, but it was well trained
That's why without its rider, it knew how to herd the cattle
Ramiro was proud of his reddish gray two-faced horse

Ramiro Sierra told them, here no one deceives anyone
I've only come to collect their lives for the death of my friend
And to pick up the cattle, that you cowardly stole

(And up Rosario, Sinaloa; my friend)

There were six hundred steers, also dairy cattle
That's why those damned rustlers were after them
But they didn't know Ramiro was going to cut their throats

A caliber two twenty-three, how beautifully you cackled
The moans were confused, with the mooing of the cows
And the edges of the mountains, recorded this ballad

Goodbye reddish gray horse, you will always be the first
Don Pablo Chavez has died, the rich rancher
I wish, that in heaven, he continues herding calves