Juancito Tiradora

Johnny Shooter was born deep in the mountains,
hanging in the vines like a hill thrush,
pecking at the fruits, always on the move,
stealing the honey from the tigüilote trees.

Johnny shooter never had anything,
but he felt like the owner of the whole mountain,
he learned to love the furrow,
the cornfield and the ravine
the little blue pools full of fish.

Johnny, Johnny Shooter,
Johnny, Johnny, John,
owner of cornfields and dawns,
Johnny, John,
Johnny, Johnny Shooter,
Johnny, Johnny, John,
owner of cornfields and dawns,
Johnny, Johnny, John.

Your bird heart knew no boundaries,
but I forgot to tell you that the land belongs to others,
a coward's bullet bit into your sweet blood,
the parrots cried when the evening fell.

Now that no one limits your freedom,
you practice your great aim at night,
shooting down stars that fall into the river
and after rinsing them, you put them in your pocket.

Johnny, Johnny Shooter... [REPEAT]