Текст и перевод песни Lino Lujan - El Corrido del Melón

El Corrido del Melón

Voy a escribir unos versos
Tengo la pluma en la mano
Ya mataron al Melón
Compañero del gitano

El día 21 de agosto
Presente lo tengo yo
En el rancho del Paso Hondo
La desgracia sucedió

Les cayó la judicial
Que al Melón iba a aprehender
Pero dio muerte primero
A don Salvador Rangel

¡Ay!
¡Ánimo, paisano!

Pobre Tomás Castañeda
Que a los tiros despertó
Con su pistola en la mano
Del tapanco se bajó

Del tapanco se bajó
Ya con su mal pensamiento
Al encontrar su rival
Se dispararon a un tiempo

Jefe de la judicial
Que la llevaba segura
Pero allí se equivocó
Se encontró la tranca dura

Decía Tomás Castañeda
"En este juego hay desquite
Adiós, pueblo de Tecuala
Y el rancho de San Felipe"

Vuela, vuela palomita
Párate en aquel limón
Estas son las mañanitas
Del afamado Melón

The Ballad of the Melon

I'm going to write some verses, my love,
Pen in hand, just for you.
They've killed the Melon, it's true,
The Gypsy's companion, through and through.

The 21st of August, my dear,
A date I remember clear,
At the Paso Hondo Ranch, my fear,
Tragedy struck, drawing near.

The law came down, hard and fast,
To apprehend the Melon at last,
But he struck first, bold and brash,
Killing Don Salvador Rangel, alas.

Oh!
Courage, my friend, don't despair!

Poor Tomás Castañeda, awoken by the fray,
To the sound of gunshots, in dismay,
With his pistol in hand, come what may,
From the loft, he jumped down, they say.

From the loft he came down, with a thought dark and deep,
Upon finding his rival, a promise to keep,
They faced each other down, secrets they'd weep,
And fired their guns simultaneously, in a deadly leap.

The chief of the lawmen, so sure of his might,
Thought he had the upper hand, in the fading light,
But he was mistaken, in the heat of the fight,
He met his match, a formidable sight.

Tomás Castañeda said, with a sigh,
"In this game, there's always a tie,"
Farewell, town of Tecuala, goodbye,
And the ranch of San Felipe, beneath the sky.

Fly, fly, little dove, so high,
Land on that lemon tree, nearby,
These are the morning songs, that I cry,
For the famed Melon, who had to die.