Che Bartolo

Great sly one from the outskirts, scoundrel of half and whole
brace yourself for this blow that I'm going to shake you,
it's not that I want to expose you for singing a milonga
but because with your shine you won't fool me.
Hey, poor rich guy, I'll tell you something that makes me happy,
watching you among the trash that pretends to be Tabarís.
The fools call you the Marquis of Boccanegra
just as they call me 'Chorro', 'The blacksmith' or 'The partridge'.

Hey, Bartolo...
beat if you've turned into a fool
trying to disguise yourself.
Boccanegra...
we must see which mother-in-law
will be able to stand you.
You in black,
you only have your record
that I don't know how you hide.
Hey, Bartolo...
as a prisoner I ask you
to drop the last name
of that noble Genoese.

If the insolent monocle gives you a fancy air
and that outfit so debonair paints you as a marquis,
the old man's curdela doesn't go the same way
who among the bar crowd drags his old age.
I don't know with what picklock you opened that hole
that we inmates of my rank call 'society',
I think you got it wrong, the one of 'black candomberos'
is the right society where you can hang out.