La Habana Está de Bala

You don't know how to treat me with love,
and I spend the night on guard duty in your body.
Havana is very dirty.
Havana has lice.
Havana has giardias.
I sing your praises but you don't pay me.
It's pointless to write you a ballad.
Havana is lit.

They say Havana has a progressive depopulation
I know because some parties are on the decline
and sometimes when I ask, where are my friends?
They left me alone, with luck and with bad luck,
they found love, or were told lies
by a lecherous old man, who took them to Spain.

Santa Cecilia is the Virgin that musicians revere,
some ask her for contracts and others are waiting
for a chance with Sandoval or Paquito D' Rivera.
Your soap operas leave me empty and off the map,
Beatriz Valdés got lost and I don't know if in the hangover
one day Lily Rentería will think of returning from Caracas.

Havana has to fix itself
put on makeup with pick and shovel.

Havana has its sad days
and also has gala nights.

When I get tired of your columns I leave
because I feel like it.