El Bulín de la Calle Ayacucho - Anibal Troilo, Fiorentino

El bulin de la calle Ayacucho

que en mis tiempos de rana alquilaba,

el bulin que la barra buscaba

para caer por la noche a timbear;

el bulin donde tantos muchachos

en su racha de vida fulera

encontraron marroco y catrera,

rechiflado parece llorar.

El «primus"no me fallaba

con su carga de agua ardiente

y habiendo agua caliente

el mate era alli señor;

no faltaba la guitarra

bien encordada y lustrosa

ni el bacan de voz gangosa

con berretin de cantor.

Cotorrito mistongo tirado

en el fondo de aquel conventillo,

sin alfombras, sin lujo y sin brillo,

cuantos dias felices pase

al calor del querer de una piba

que fue mia, mimosa y sincera,

y una noche de invierno y fulera

en un vuelo, hacia el cielo se fue.

cada cosa era un recuerdo

que la vida me anargaba,

por eso me la pasaba

cabrero, rante y triston;

los muchachos se cortaron

al verme tan afligido,

y yo me quede en el nido

empollando mi aflicción.

El bulin de la calle Ayacucho

ha quedado mistongo y fulero,

ya no se oye al cantor milonguero

engrupido su musa entonar;

y en el «primus"no bulle la pava

que a la barra contenta reunia,

y el bacan de la rante alegria

esta seco de tanto llorar.

The bulin of Ayacucho street

that in my frog days I rented,

the bulin that the bar was looking for

to fall at night to timbear;

the bulin where so many boys

in his streak of life fulera

they found morocco and catrera,

whistled seems to cry.

The "primus" did not fail me

with its charge of fiery water

and having hot water

the mate was there sir;

the guitar was not missing

well strung and lustrous

nor the baccan with the twangy voice

with a singer's berretin

Mistongo parrot lying

at the bottom of that tenement,

without carpets, without luxury and without shine,

how many happy days have passed

to the heat of a girl's love

that was mine, cuddly and sincere,

and a winter night and fulera

in a flight, towards the sky he left.

everything was a memory

that life annoyed me,

that's why I spent it

goatherd, rante and triston;

the boys cut themselves

seeing me so afflicted,

and I stayed in the nest

brooding my affliction.

The bulin of Ayacucho street

it has remained mistongo and fulero,

you no longer hear the milonguero singer

engulfed his muse to sing;

and in the "primus" the kettle does not boil

that the happy bar gathered,

and the bacchanalian joy

He is dry from crying so much.