Milonga y Baguala

I feel the baguala, for what it brings
I see the milonga in my strumming
I don’t feel, I don’t see, and it doesn’t please me much
When one steps away, the other follows

Baguala, I see you with that Pampas flair
Milonga, I feel you through the bass and melody
If it doesn’t go this way, I lose the rhythm
And it’s all pointless if I’m not a pro

Milonga and baguala, guitar and voice
In the same gathering, it feels like another party
And watching the one who dances, flipping her moves
I doubt any of them could seem like a saint

That’s why I think it’s baguala
From the dust that rises when we dance
When it slips away in milonga
From the one who, in the strumming, rocks you good

And because it’s milonga, the wildest sings
In the rodeos of breaking horses, being a poet
Where the best spurs shine
How beautifully the poncho flares for others

If it’s not baguala, I doubt it has
Another riff that’s pleasing
From someone who’s used to the milonga
What makes a shout of "come on" tremble

Baguala and milonga, sound and rhythm
In every beat, it stretches the space
Where we dig deep for that macho bond
What guarantees we have, we’ve got that love

Longing for the homeland that time hides
Where the stamp and guitar intertwine
To the shout of form, sniffing out the moves
Of the same kind, milonga and baguala