El Huajchito
Raly Barrionuevo
The Little Rascal
They often call me the little rascal
because I'm poor.
My old lady left this world
I was left all alone at birth.
I was born in the middle of the talas
they saw me grow up, the locontis
in that ranch over there
standing tall in the middle of the mountain.
With a little shirt and worn-out pants
pants rolled up
a torn poncho
shirt torn on the side.
Fierce in poverty
and with thousands of suns tanned
I feel happy to live
in these flowery mountains.
Early in the morning I wake up
cardinals and thrushes.
The sun surprises me in the mountains
chopping the brushwood.
At siesta I go to the river
to swim like a chumuco
in the evening I return
on my shaggy little donkey.
Until I reach my ranch
I think about my destiny
it causes a feeling
to walk alone on the roads.
When I tune my guitar
and the wind cries with sorrows
I am from Santiago
maybe that's why I'm happy.
