Vaya con la diferencia
Alfredo Zitarrosa
Go with the difference
(Polka)
The stallion, the boss
roams free in the corral,
his coat is shining
from eating so much corn.
And I, who take care of him
am looking a bit thin,
the bed where I lie down
is pure capon leather.
Go with the difference
between the stallion and me,
he beats me in the race,
the hell with it!
His mane is groomed,
his four hooves shod,
and I walk without sandals
with my heels cracked.
In the stable, the horse
has a very good ration,
and in my plate in the kitchen
a mouse is having a feast.
Go with the difference
between the stallion and me,
he beats me in the race,
the hell with it!
The cold doesn't bother him,
with his woolen coat,
and I walk in my rags,
just shivering.
But the boss doesn't understand
seeing me in this situation,
because he was born in a golden cradle
and he doesn't sweat my sweat.
Go with the difference
between the stallion and me,
he beats me in the race,
the hell with it!
And when he has a race
he comes and goes by locomotion,
and I on my free Sundays
go to town on foot.
This little polka, countryman,
I took it from a truth:
Field hand is not a horse,
nor horse an authority.
Go with the difference
between the stallion and me,
he beats me in the race,
the hell with it!
Go with the difference
between the stallion and me.
He left me at the starting gate,
the hell with it!
