De Nuevo En El Arpa

Well gentlemen, the warrior is back in the harp
Inspired as always and with the same throat
In more or less terms, not too low, not too high
But with a little taste stuck in the consonance
So the melody falls pleasantly on the ear
Maybe because it has a trill like that of the paraulata
Of the turpial and the arrendajo, nested in the low branch
And a lament of the carrao when the summer fades
Here I am entrenched on the yellow string
With the rifle of my verse with guaimaro up to the hilt
To continue in battle, for this beautiful cause

Although there is a group that happily made a parade
And they put on dances saying the little warrior doesn't sing anymore
Without taking into account the tightness of my pace
Taking the llanero folklore across the breadth and length of the homeland
They should consider that one is human and gets tired
I don't understand why they want to drag me down
Is it because they are very hurt by what my music achieves
And what fault do I have that there are people who idolize me
Because my way of being pleases many
The old man, the old lady, the boy, the girl

The llanero and the sifrinito in Caracas
In the west, the Zulian where the gaita prevails
In the distant east where the galeron stands out
That's where I go towards my goal, with serenity and temperance
Between joys and sorrows the warrior advances and advances
And even though the discredits come to me like an avalanche
But those bad storms don't knock me out of my hammock
Because I carry the support of God and the holy virgin
Forward is the way, boy, time doesn't give second chances

I go firmly towards the future with my shield and my spear
Because hard blows encourage me and make me stronger
And here I came to show that my chicken has breed
And when it pecks, it hits with the spur and finishes
You have to see and understand the strength of my hope
Which makes me maintain faith and perseverance
I am one of those who fall, but get up right away
That's why I go through life between loves and longings

Collecting the blows that the ungrateful have given me
Which are the raw material for topics that are pitiful
Because my feelings don't accept what happens to me
And that makes me not forget the times of my childhood
Back in the red Caribbean after releasing the cows
I sat alone with a cuatro on the door bolt
To tell my sadness to that vast plain
That's why about my roots, never force me, they separate
Cuje, cuje my little dog, because there's a lapa in that cave
Let's go with God, sailors, along the river of trust
Bail out the canoe because I'll pull the lever
And whoever is the boss should get close to the bank
Because if it fills with water, the boat could sink
And then it's true, buddy, that misfortune swallows us

I repeat these expressions because my taita used to say them
And today for me they are lessons, my parchment and my letter
I always wear a good hat that identifies my figure
And a little montuno accent that gives me away wherever I go
Maybe because I'm a farmer of those who don't lack
A patch of land and a little corn, yuca, ocumo, and sweet potato
A pig in a pigsty and about four gentle cows
A gentle horse saddled under a bush
Eating chopped grass with a little molasses
A soft rope for the cattle
A knife and a machete, good chumbos and a gasa
The wormwood pot and a silver-stuck saw
A buttery bit, good reins, and a hakeeman

With the forehead adorned with pure silver coins
The wooden bowl, the longing, and the calabash
The suadero, the amudas, the revolver, and a blanket
A stiff leather backpack with a hammer and staples
The plate I eat from is a turtle shell
There in my llanero ranch, you know when it's slaughter time
Because you see the leather in the yard surrounded by stakes
At lunch, the sancocho with chopped bone with an axe
If not, a cuajao mondongo with tripe, librillo, and trotter
For dinner, a meat stew with rice and pasta
An old dog sleeping well fed under a patch
A tasajera stick dripping sap
And the vultures flying over the house
That's why I'm proud to be a son of these plains

The legendary Apure, the purebred cuartiao hall
And whoever wants to understand why my memories
They have to go to Elorza, the most authentic on the map
And once you've crossed the bridge over the Arauca
Arrive at the corner of the farmer near the square
Or to the Alma Llanera promenade that starts at the pharmacy
There the joropo bathes between hangover and hangover
And you can find garrapata agenme in the kiosks
That's where I spend my time between verses and white rum
Or if not there in the booth sunk in my serenade
Where tourists spend their good times
Sharing with the criollo who feels his idiosyncrasy
Watching, drinking, and eating, shouting, applauding, jumping, and dancing
I say goodbye content but I leave it on record
That the folklore warrior is back in the harp