El Bulin de La Calle Ayacucho

The tenement on Ayacucho street,
That in my frog days I rented,
The tenement the gang sought
To come at night to gamble,
The tenement where so many boys,
In their streak of tough life,
Found marroco and catrera
Heartbroken, seems to cry.

The primus never failed me
With its load of aguardiente
And having hot water
The mate was there, sir.
The guitar was not missing
Well strung and shiny
Nor the dandy with a hoarse voice
With a touch of singer.

The tenement on Ayacucho street
Has become mistongo and shabby:
You no longer hear the milonguero singer,
Deceived, his muse singing.
And in the primus the kettle does not bubble
That happily gathered the gang
And the dandy of the tough joy
Is dry from crying so much.

Everything was a memory
That life embittered me:
That's why I spent it
Shabby, tough and sad.

The boys cut themselves off
Seeing me so distressed
And I stayed in the nest
Brooding over my affliction.

Misty little parrot, lying
In the back of that tenement,
Without carpets, without luxury and without shine,
How many happy days I spent,
In the warmth of the love of a girl
Who was mine, affectionate and sincere...
And one winter night, tough,
She flew away to the sky!