Текст и перевод песни Los Gofiones - Nuestra Vela Latina

Nuestra Vela Latina

De la tierra, la luchada,
La nobleza en el bregar.
Nuestra gente marinera
Tiene su brega en la mar,
Tiene su brega en la mar.

Patrón, agarre la caña
Y dígale al escotero,
Patrón, agarre la caña
Y dígale al escotero
Que calce pronto la escota
Y se prepare el murero,
Y se prepare el murero
Y dígale al escotero.

Salimos por sotavento
Y nos llevan cuatro esloras,
Una tumbada y de un largo,
Llegamos a San Cristóbal.
Salimos por sotavento
Y nos llevan cuatro esloras,
Una tumbada y de un largo,
Llegamos a San Cristóbal.

Es nuestra vela latina
Lucha contra viento y mar,
Poco bote, mucho trapo
Y sin miedo a trabucar.
Es nuestra vela latina
Lucha contra viento y mar,
Poco bote, mucho trapo
Y sin miedo a trabucar.

Después viramos pa′fuera
Y vamos cogiendo altura,
Después viramos pa'fuera
Y vamos cogiendo altura.
Con la bolina ceñida,
Echan chispas las amuras,
Echan chispas las amuras
Y vamos cogiendo altura.

Es la última tumbada, "¡Todo el mundo pa′ la banda!",
Se oye el grito del patrón enfilando la bocana.
El boyón está a la vista y ansioso estoy por llegar.
El rival viene "pegao" pero vamos a ganar.
El rival viene "pegao" pero vamos a ganar.

Es nuestra vela latina
Lucha contra viento y mar,
Poco bote, mucho trapo
Y sin miedo a trabucar.
Es nuestra vela latina
Lucha contra viento y mar,
Poco bote, mucho trapo
Y sin miedo a trabucar.

Our Latin Sail

Of the land, the Luchada,
The nobility of the struggle.
Our seafaring people
Have their struggle in the sea,
Have their struggle in the sea.

Boss, grab the tiller
And tell the bowsman,
Boss, grab the tiller
And tell the bowsman
That he should put the sheet on quickly
And the bowsprit should be prepared,
And the bowsprit should be prepared
And tell the bowsman.

We're going out to leeward
And they're leading us by four lengths,
One tack and a long one,
We arrive in San Cristóbal.
We're going out to leeward
And they're leading us by four lengths,
One tack and a long one,
We arrive in San Cristóbal.

It's our Latin sail
Fights against wind and sea,
Small boat, lots of canvas
And no fear of capsizing.
It's our Latin sail
Fights against wind and sea,
Small boat, lots of canvas
And no fear of capsizing.

Then we turn out
And we're gaining height,
Then we turn out
And we're gaining height.
With the bowline cinched,
The mooring lines are sparking,
The mooring lines are sparking
And we're gaining height.

It's the last tack, "All hands to one side!",
You hear the captain's cry aiming at the mouth.
The buoy is in sight and I'm eager to arrive.
The rival is "closely attached" but we are going to win.
The rival is "closely attached" but we are going to win.

It's our Latin sail
Fights against wind and sea,
Small boat, lots of canvas
And no fear of capsizing.
It's our Latin sail
Fights against wind and sea,
Small boat, lots of canvas
And no fear of capsizing.