La Cañera - José Larralde

Aguardiente cariñoso

Calentame la pobreza

Que el pobre chupa de encono

Y el rico por ligereza

Métale don Pancho Sosa

Apuntale la tormenta

Chifle con buen aguardiente

Dende lejos trae las mentas

Aguardiente brasilero

Te conozco en el aroma

Haciendo peso al carguero

Cuendo repuntás la loma

Aguardiente pelo bayo

Peliagudo como ají

Por tu culpa el aparejo

Me lo cortó un surubí

Y en la chamarra los ocho dedos

De aquel moreno que era mensual

Por cada tecla su alma lloraba

Porque era el alma tradicional

Se quedó en la cantimplora

Dando vuelta' el alma mía

Lo mesmito que cuatrero

Topando a la polecía

Aguardiente volverdor

Te conozco en el frasquillo

Te me vas por la malicia

Y me volvés por el cuchillo

Y en la chamarra los ocho dedos

De aquel moreno que era mensual

Por cada tecla su alma lloraba

Porque era el alma tradicional

Aguardiente de velorio

Corredor como centella

Si el finao se levantara

Pa' hacer teclear la botella

Aguardiente de bautismo

Bendecido y subidor

Quedan sólo los compadres

Con el cura y el cantor

Y en la chamarra los ocho dedos

De aquel moreno que era mensual

Por cada tecla su alma lloraba

Porque era el alma tradicional

affectionate brandy

Poverty warms me

That the poor man sucks bitterly

And the rich for lightness

Metale Don Pancho Sosa

shore up the storm

Chifle with good brandy

From far away brings the mints

brazilian aguardiente

I know you in the scent

Making weight to the freighter

When you climb the hill

bay hair aguardiente

sticky as chili pepper

Because of you the rig

I was cut by a surubí

And on the jacket the eight fingers

Of that brunette who was monthly

For each key his soul cried

Because it was the traditional soul

He stayed in the canteen

Giving back' my soul

the same thing that rustler

bumping into the police

returning brandy

I know you in the jar

You leave me for the malice

And you come back to me for the knife

And on the jacket the eight fingers

Of that brunette who was monthly

For each key his soul cried

Because it was the traditional soul

wake brandy

Runner like twinkle

If the financier got up

To make the bottle type

baptismal brandy

Blessed and climber

Only the compadres remain

With the priest and the singer

And on the jacket the eight fingers

Of that brunette who was monthly

For each key his soul cried

Because it was the traditional soul