Palermo

Damn you, Palermo!
You have me dry and sick,
poorly dressed and without food,
because the wind on Sundays
makes me slip with the horses
at the National H track.
To find the one who doesn't lose
I choke on the Green
and study the pedigree
and despite the form guide
I spend at the window
all the month's work.

Whims I have with the horses,
meetings every Sunday...
Because of you I find myself worn out...
What can I do, that's how it must be!
Illusions of the old man and the old lady
are being shattered in the sand
by the hooves of a snoring horse...
What can I do if I'm a gambler!

Palermo, cradle of criminals,
because of you I'm broke,
without honor or dignity;
I'm a hustler and a scoundrel,
I always go through misery
because of your horse breed.
The dog track drags me more,
I'm more drawn to a race
than to a beautiful woman.
Like a painted mouth
the chestnut deceives me
as if it were her mate.