Zamba Del Arisco

I track a young bull, that came out of the waterholes
Leaving fresh tracks, in the middle of the foliage
I follow its trail, I found it on a trail

I throw a strong lasso and fix my gaze
I knew I was looking for it and it didn't give in easily

I take a few turns, as if inviting me
And we head to the woods to the cry of the pack
I hide behind a path covered with branches

Suddenly there was silence, nothing could be heard
And in the distance a howl that slowly approached
The dogs were coming back, to the trap where it was

My braided lasso of eight, whistled on a quebracho
Scratching along the ground and breaking the sticks

Holding onto my handle, my horse pulled it
And as gentle as a sheep, he slowly guided it
He struggled but knew he wouldn't escape from this