Cueca larga del norte

Long Cueca

Long live the salty north,
long live the tan skin,
long live the Calama wind,
long live the drum and the flute!
Long live the pilgrims
from the cliffs and Tirana!
Long live the rough pampino
who married my sister, my soul!

I passed through Antofagasta
on a January afternoon
wanting to be the first
to dance the long cueca.

The long cueca, oh yes,
in February in Calama.
And for keeping on dancing it
right there I ended up in jail.

I ended up in jail, oh yes,
and in March I was rescued
by brave miners,
they took me to Maria.

They took me, yes,
in April I left again
when my Pedro from Valdivia
wanted to die there.

Wanted to die, oh yes,
and it wasn't allowed.
In May they sent me
to Quillagua senselessly.

Very senselessly, oh yes,
in June I went to Victoria.
Dancing cueca and cachimbo
I felt glorious.

But in glory, oh yes,
in July I was fired
and to go to Tocopilla
I had to be a sailor.

Being a sailor, oh yes,
I went to Iquique in August
and in Tirana they gave me
little bread and a lot of wine.

And a lot of wine, yes,
my life - who would've thought -
that in Arica in September
they dance sailor cueca.

Sailor cueca, yes,
in October I party
and they send me to Pisagua
for leading a strike.

Leading the strike, yes,
in November I'm tired
and before the year ends
I go to Toconao.

To Toconao, yes,
in December I saw it crooked;
better stay in Santiago
because here this cueca ends.