La Canelera

I saw you, shorty
And I don't lose sight of you
You may not be, but you look like
One of those on my list

I don't want to see you with another guy
Or hanging out as a canelera
Now you're going to go with me
Even if your mom doesn't want

Serve me three cinnamons
Sweetened with your hand
To drink them now
And later we'll go

If there's anyone who gets mad
Because I treated you with love
I'm not afraid of bullets
My life, nor of pains

If there's anyone who gets mad
Those who hang out in the group
I carry spare bullets in my belt
6 shots in my gun

Here's the farewell
By the ridges of a fig tree
Here they end up singing
Verses of the canelera