Recuerdos da "28"

Every now and then when I put my hand on the blanket
There is no poor China, nor waiter with a sour face
I'm from afar, where it rains and doesn't drip
I'm not afraid of colts, nor of men who buddy up

I swing my leg and go straight to the frolic
The hotter the commotion, the more daring I feel
And the crowd, who knows me well
Knows that by asking, my machete comes down on '28'
I saddle up in a bar there by the tracks

While at the watering hole I quench the thirst of the roan
I hear the noise of the accordion mooing
And the old sow wagging its tail, frolicking in the hall
There's always a short and thick Indian
Nickname Neck, the tail's lover

I enter the room in the middle of the confusion
I get a bit confused like a dog in a procession
I almost always arrive somewhat thirsty
I break my hat kissing the saint on the wall
And at a glance if I don't see someone in uniform I shout
Serve me a straight one of that which kills the guard

I keep my gun stuffed with bullets
My machete, hat, and poncho and with your permission, I'll dance
In these dances, I carry a loaded money belt
I dance with the best China, I don't care about paying
I leave my horse tied to the fence
I just don't want it to limp when the party's over

The cops always come at the wrong time
But I leave through the door, I just want to see who catches me
Since I was a kid, I don't wait for the police
If things get out of hand, I hide like a plover