Danza de Los Muertos Pobres

The one who kills is a hero, the one who doesn't enjoy is a saint,
the one who doesn't feel is a man, the one who cries is a faggot,
the one who doesn't laugh is discreet, the one who doesn't dance is decent,
and the one who obeys is good;
I obeyed and went to bed.
And I dreamed that I went to dance in a cemetery
And I nodded to a girl from grave number four,
she danced in Ferrasco Velero,
and took me to the show 'Come dance with Ronald'
And a dance, revenge of the poor
that bewitched the corpses who died without bread,
they wildly moved their hips, cut! cut!,
don't let them move...
The tail swaying this way,
the tail swaying that way.
The tail swaying this way,
the tail swaying that way.
This way it's easier, I feel like starting to love myself,
I want to leave this body that is dead by nationality.
The soul dies in the sarcophagus of elegance.
We don't want to be dead, obscene, no,
the authorities might not sanction us,
but the pelvis moves, it moves
it moves, it moves indecently
with this dance they will torture us.
The modified moral leagues
began to suggest morals again,
they raided vaults to pick on us
and the cattle prod couldn't prod, because it moves...
The tail swaying this way,
the tail swaying that way.
The tail swaying this way,
the tail swaying that way.
The one who kills is a hero, the one who doesn't enjoy is a saint,
the one who doesn't feel is a man, the one who cries is a faggot,
the one who doesn't laugh is discreet, the one who doesn't dance is decent,
and the one who obeys is good, and the one who can't stand it is subversive.