Antonio Vargas Heredia

With a trembling scarlet carnation in his mouth
With a wicker wand in his hand
Along a path that leads to the river
Went Antonio Vargas Heredia, the gypsy

Among the orange trees, the moon
Placed the orange blossom light on his forehead
And when the clear day began
It carried reflections of the green olive grove
Of the green olive grove

Antonio Vargas Heredia
Flower of the Calé race
The wicker fell from your hand
And the carnation from your mouth
And the carnation from your mouth

From Puente Genil to Lucena
From Loja to Benamejí
From Puente Genil to Lucena
From Loja to Benamejí
The young girls of Sierra Morena
Are dying of sorrow
Crying for you
Antonio Vargas Heredia
They are dying of sorrow
Crying for you

Antonio Vargas Heredia was the gypsy
The most arrogant and the best planted
And around the Sierra Morena
There was no one better, more handsome, and honorable

But because of a gypsy woman's fault
His knife plunged into a man's chest
The cursed jealousy clouded his eyes
And imprisoned in rage, he cried
He cried in rage

Antonio Vargas Heredia
Flower of the Calé race
The wicker fell from your hand
And the carnation from your mouth
And the carnation from your mouth

From Puente Genil to Lucena
From Loja to Benamejí
From Puente Genil to Lucena
From Loja to Benamejí
The young girls of Sierra Morena
Are dying of sorrow
Crying for you
Antonio Vargas Heredia
They are dying of sorrow
Crying for you