La Casa Por La Ventana

They burned all the ships
To start a new life
They paid dearly for the key
False of the promised land
But, instead of the Caribbean
With its bachata, with its palm trees
The Motherland receives
The immigrant with peteneras
And it's not good in Barcelona
When the stock market, cousin, doesn't ring
And the cholo wins in Madrid
Less than a dog without pedigree
And the mestizo, in Seville
Goes singing through nightmares
And, if two Basques rob
A pharmacist in Vigo
The witness swears they were South Americans
And every weekend
They throw the house through the window
Marking a tight embrace
At El Café del Mercado
Which is not the same as the Tropicana
They kill themselves making beds
Selling kisses, shining floors
If hunger bites on the branch
The turtledove takes flight
And, in squares and cinemas
For a mattress and a plate of soup
With a carpet and a Kleenex
They polish the ass of Europe
And, the police force
Comes with immigration laws
And, to the Moor from the boat
A patrol boat ruins his fun
And, to the tasty mulatto
They give him the whole Inquisition
And, to the little gypsy, the wave
Bad luck and paya burn
The little roof of the shack
And every weekend
They throw the house through the window
Kaftans and breakfast
Of kifi with Moorish tea
And they write letters to their sultana
And every weekend
With their Dominican hips
Buddy, a little guaracha
Candombe, samba or rumba
Or have you never been to Havana?
And the Korean works
Selling rolls of plimavela
And in porn bars the package
Of Guinean costs a ticket
And, to the Jewish store
Six kids go looking for trouble
And the Polish engineer
Who came fleeing the cold
Is already the butler of the sack man
And every weekend
They throw the house through the window
And, while ironing a suit
Their heart on a trip
They sing The Varsoviana
And every weekend
The little black man stays
With the Ukrainian
And they dance polka and little step
And they drink vodka and mojito
And they come back drunk in the morning