La Clava de Los Gitanos
Camarón de La Isla
The Gypsies' Club
When we go to the river
And I hear her sing
In one of her laments
I have to start crying
Watching her by the river
I see my girl washing
Don't wash anymore
And let's go now
To the tribe, girl
The children are crying
And the hours are empty
A dark-skinned gypsy
Born in the Albaicín
With big eyes and dark circles
I saw her coming from the mountain
I asked her where she was going, cousin
But she didn't want to listen
She continued on the path
Without turning back
Samara, chosen by the Moors
Queen of the Moorish quarter
The whole town adored her
And prayed to her night and day
Because Queen Samara
With her very gypsy face
Looked like a virgin
Oh Samara, queen of the Moorish quarter
My pain was so great
That I found myself sick in bed
By God, call another doctor
To relieve me of these troubles
That I have
Inside my heart
By God I ask you
Not to boast that I loved you
