Que Trata de Andalucia

Carton of red wine and small square, in meyba
And with flip flops of foreign brands
A cell phone without credit, a motorcycle on reserve
Gasoline goes up and you iron your ear

Streets like those of yesterday
With stones on the ground and white walls
Silversmith's calluses, guitar calluses and what do I know?
They go out onto the balconies with flip-flops on their feet
If you're going fast: Slow down, it's not worth it
That at this time the Sun always reaches the sidewalk
Stop, it's not worth it, if you look for the shade you know what the subject is about
Stop, it's not worth it
That at this time the Sun always reaches the sidewalk
Stop, it's not worth it, if you're looking for shade you've come to my land

It's about Andalusia, cousin, you don't understand anything
Of narrow streets of wine and parties, and of bad-tempered dogs
And it's not to scare you cousin, but you have to wake up
The sun doesn't burn you if you look for shade running from here to there

Bars with beers and tapas, squares full of thieves, scoundrels and rascals
Circles of clapping, of drawers and of guitars and for the Sundays the
Little countryside or the beach

Look, look, look and be quiet, fences with flower pots in my neighborhood do not fail
Look, look, look and shut up, bars on the balconies of my neighborhood do not fail

It's about Andalusia, cousin, you don't understand anything
Of narrow streets of wine and parties, and of bad-tempered dogs
And it's not to scare you cousin, but you have to wake up
The sun doesn't burn you if you look for shade running from here to there

Streets like those of yesterday
Streets like those of yesterday
With stones on the ground and white walls
Silversmith's calluses, guitar calluses and what do I know?
They go out onto the balconies with flip-flops on their feet
If you're going fast: Slow down, it's not worth it
That at this time the Sun always reaches the sidewalk
Stop, it's not worth it, if you're looking for shade you've come to my land

It's about Andalusia, cousin, you don't understand anything
Of narrow streets of wine and parties, and of bad-tempered dogs
And it's not to scare you cousin, but you have to wake up
The sun doesn't burn you if you look for shade running from here to there

It's about Andalusia, cousin, you don't understand anything
Of narrow streets of wine and parties, and of bad-tempered dogs. (What?!)

It's about Andalusia, cousin, you don't understand anything
Of narrow streets of wine and parties, and of dogs (of dogs) with bad temper