Toríto Bravo

Little bull, brave little bull
Captain of the herd
Little bull from Piedras Negras
The one with the curly forehead
The one who sharpens his knives
In the water troughs
The one who, upon hearing my whistles
If he's lying down, he gets up
And comes scratching the wind
Throwing it on his back
Raising the goldfinches
That sing among the rosemary
Whistle at him, foreman
Whistle at him, whistle at him
He's looking for a fight
With yesterday's little bull

Aim for the right horn
With the sling, foreman
If the chestnut one rears up
It will harm me
Little bull, brave little bull
Captain of the herd
Little bull from Piedras Negras
The one with the curly forehead
Here comes the brave little bull
Don't be scared, my mountain girl
Put in your dark hand
A lump of white sugar
He's black like your eyes
He has a star on his face
You'll see how he caresses you
And how noble his gaze is

Whistle at him, foreman