Mitote

And the commotion begins and watch what I do,
we bring the Blood of Villa de Santiago,
there where the Cola de Caballo is born,
The Dam of La Boca and the roasted corn.

Feel in the soul the northern corrido,
the old folks playing with dedication
"fara, fara, fara, fara, the accordion sounds".
It's the Great Silence that was born in Nuevo León.

We grew up playing with marbles,
the spinning top in hand, crushing marbles;
playing the donkey, there goes the bullet!,
and at one o'clock the prickly pear playing eagerly:
"One prickly pear; two little kicks and cos;
three María Cantrés, four I take out the ham;
five from here I jump you;
six again; seven machete;
eight Pinocchio; new snow cup
(vanilla flavor);
ten: the eagle next to your feet!;
eleven bronze little horse;
twelve your butt comes undone;
thirteen the little devil appears to you;
fourteen your grandma coughs,
fifteen with its respective fork
with the bean ladle: pass the taco!.
And take out the ball to play dodgeball,
to the role that rolls or the flying bottle,
to the little devil or the enchanted one,
run and run you are left:
frozen!...hill!
And in the evening we play onions,
stretch and stretch, let's see if you can beat me,
take out the bike and the role car,
take out the ball to score many goals,
missing the Moco, he's the one left,
we have to draw lots with paper or scissors:
rock, paper, scissors! (repeat).

And so playing we keep growing,
and we never needed the Nintendo for anything;
we go to the ranch to bathe in the river,
to eat dried meat at my uncle's house;
take out the slingshot and kill the magpie,
never aim at the weakest one
killing opossums, looking for cicadas,
with cans and hooks fishing sunfish.