Mi Hijo El Refinao

Today my little boy arrives
Undoing the distance
And I'm holding back the urge
To raise my joy in a shout
There's no need, it was written
That the absence would hurt him
And gathering experience
He will have realized for sure
That there is no path more secure
Than the path of longing

A year in Montevideo
Will have surely transformed him
Changing his rough language
For the finest prose
Well spoken, I can already see him
Flirting with girls wherever he goes!
For the better, just like his father
Dry in the matter of women
He's nailed, there can't be
A son of a b*tch that doesn't bark!

Here I keep the letter
That he sent to his old man
Asking for money
To buy himself a guitar
And even though he barely went to school
If he has passion and attachment
I reckon that the lad
Will turn out to be a good singer
Guitarist and troubadour
Just like Julio Gallego

Woof woof woof woof!

Oh! If the dog doesn't deceive me
My boy has arrived
But if he comes changed
The black sheep misses him
My son! Such joy
From the eyes that see you!
Although looking at you closely
You're so extravagant
That I'm almost capable
Of barking at you too

Quiet, stop, father, please
The sport suits me well
And we must impose the custom
Of the happy youth plan
Alright, it seems you're coming
Sharp from the center
And even though I find you a bit odd
I don't criticize your outfit
Because it's not the clothes that make the gaucho
But what's inside

And? Did you do well? Okay, daddy!
I'll tell you I'm a hit
Singing in the beat group
The most VIP in the city!
D*mn! I need a pen
The notebook and eraser
To see if your father takes
Note of that language
Because Montevideo
Has turned you around
Even the language!

Did you buy the instrument?
I did, father, yes, a while ago
Look at this picture of me
Playing at a wedding!
Let me see for a moment
But this lyre is square!
It has no soundhole or anything
And instead of a singing gaucho
You look like a presser
With the tool plugged in!

Father, you don't get it
My guitar is electronic
Because I print the tonic
That youth seeks
Answer me, you cheeky one!
If there's only one candle here
Where do you plug in the guitar
To make me hear the songs
Of Juan Carlos Bares
And Wencesalo Varela?

I don't cultivate the gaucho style
I sing beat music
Which is at its peak
With a giant shine
No son, I don't deserve
For you to come out like that
And use a rough guitar
That seems, because of its fierceness
Like a baker's shovel
More handle than blade!

Father, why do you rant
I don't deserve it either!
My singing is pure and fresh
A blue bubble that splashes
Today's music implies
More spirit than idea
And even though you say it's ugly
That it's rotten
Our inspiration feeds
On what surrounds us

The boys these days
Those of the current era
We go to the club simply
Because there are no more general stores
Or jukeboxes or trams
They belong to our time
And we use instead of horses
Shiny scooters
We are different now
Because the times have changed!

You know you're right?
You don't know how happy I am
That you support those who belong
To the new generation
Paternal understanding
Is essential even today
Since the new wave
Is made up of those people
Who create a huge uproar
Because they feel very lonely

And you who have been and are
Fanatics of another era
You only look at us from the outside
Without seeing our hearts
You know you're right?
Of course I know and very well
Because our struggle aims
To tear apart old networks
And we sing for you
But you don't listen to us!

Don't ignore
The magic of those songs
That are manifestations
Of a way of feeling
One thing is the future
And another thing is tradition
And the current generation
With weapons of a different caliber
Has the right to be free
You know you're right?

But with reason and all
Here's my guitar
That anyone who picks it up
Must sing in my way
Excuse me if I bother you
By putting it in your arms
And so you can affirm your steps
And your ear can adjust
Play me a milonga
Or I'll beat you with a belt!