Chiclana

Like fish and the thorns don't prick me,
I open cans with my toenails,
I'm like a cat parachuting,
I drink from a bucket and don't get coffee on me eh eh eh.

Cardboard pipes, paper raincoats,
I walk barefoot down the street with nothing to do,
Because we have nothing in this poor city,
I run uphill without bothering anyone.
And I go with my guitar to Chiclana,
When the cement is already eating my feet,
I look for animals with jackets and espadrilles,
And I'm sure I'll find it there eh eh eh.
They go through the alleys singing to the mice,
They are the friends I always wanted to have,
Handing out the codfish without a spoon,
I shower on the beach every morning.

[Chorus:]
And in Chiclana, we always rest on Mondays,
The walls are made of air, our roof is the clouds,
First-class musicians taken out of the fridge,
We mix it if you bring the stones.

[Chorus x3]