Mi Andalucia

Andalusia, oh Andalusia,
because when I get drunk I sing to you every day,
when I drink that wine
from the juice of the clusters of your well-cultivated vines,
with my mind I write to you what I truly feel.
Who could be a miner and work in your mines
to know you from the inside or that sailor who ends
to return to your port.

Andalusia, Andalusia, Andalusia, oh my Andalusia
who wouldn't live so far away to have you every day.
Who would be the white snow, the hazelnut fountain
to have you Granada
or the Guadalquivir River, to tell that I was born
in your Jaén la Serrana and take me to the Genil
to your flat Córdoba
and skirting the branches to caress the hair of Seville and Triana
and tell you I'm not staying because San Lucar is calling me.

Andalusia, Andalusia, Andalusia, oh my Andalusia
who wouldn't live so far away to have you every day.

Andalusia, oh Andalusia
Andalusia, Huelva, Cádiz, Seville, Jaén, Córdoba, Granada and Almería...
The women at your door, those courtyards with flowerpots and that dog in the shade
that little siesta time and the bowl of gazpacho
you don't know how much I love you, land of bread with oil
farmers, sailors and the one with the most people distributed throughout the world.

Andalusia, Andalusia, Andalusia, oh my Andalusia
who wouldn't live so far away to have you every day.

Who would be the dawn to contemplate that estuary of your Huelva...
and starting from the estuary like Columbus in his day would discover America
who would anchor in the bay of your salty Cádiz
to the east would sail and with the furrows of the water would draw your name
with pens of white foam from Malaga to Almería.

Andalusia, Andalusia, Andalusia, oh my Andalusia
who wouldn't live so far away to have you every day.