La de La Morral

Hey, oh, oh, old sandal-wearing lady
Cracked foot
Split heel
Conceited
You paint your cheek with pieces of red tissue paper
And you come to show off that you wear bile

You arrived last year
I saw you arrive barefoot
Carrying a backpack
When you came from your house
Now you're showing off
And stirring up the crowd

You had a braid on your back
Adorned with little bows
You've shaved with a razor
You look like a used-up mulatto
And now you're wearing a miniskirt
You already had your sancha peeled

You don't even hear the honking
Of my sweet potato car
Maybe some guy
Passed you honking in a car
You already changed the little backpack
For a snap bag

Now that you're wearing shoes
You became a flirt
You already gave your picture
To the porter's son
But he doesn't throw you a rope
Because you're so streetwise

When you went back to your ranch
You said you were an artist
That you had already become a star
In a revue theater
And that a producer is waiting for you
Because he has you on his list.