Milonga Maragata

I am a heritage of Maragato
The old caudillo race
I have Farroupilha blood
Galloping through my veins
In the bursts of thirty-five
I walked along the hills
Entangled in the arrows
Weaving steel in fights

White bag chiripa
Tied scarf and half back
And a vine that goes wild
In the disheveled mane
At the waist the butcher
Fellow beheader!
And a forty ring
To ensure the safekeeping

Pure heartwood carcass
Forged in guapa tempering
With the rude rag print
I planted a tendency for evil
And the offspring of the race
I sowed in the echo of the scream
Playing with third-party iron
With chimango and woodpecker

White iron flash
The revolver also thunders
In this gaucho milonga
That, by taura, does not get entangled
Fight with laughter!
Because the male knows himself
It's behind the S of the dagger

Under the ugly weather
Only courage sustains!
Tool may be missing
But there is still the warrior fiber
For whoever inherits the origin
Of the noble Farroupilha blood
Only dies by burning rags
Fighting through the hills

With the libertarian instinct
And the sense of a frontiersman
I was a warrior bugle
Shaping Rio Grande
Because of the shouting and the fuss
I made the country I belong to
Halter for a scarf
Blood-stained