El Patrón

He's got the fat cows
The valleys and the hills
Master of the mountains and valleys
And owner of the horizon
He's the boss, he's the boss

Silver and gold gear
That don’t know a paycheck
Luxurious braided lassos
That never caught a thing
Fine-tuned saddles
With a breast collar and cinch
A well-mannered, shiny mare
Fat from not galloping
He's the boss, he's the boss

A short-brimmed hat
That doesn’t need a mask
A whip instead of a crop and
Spurs like a soldier's
A stranger even in his own field
A visitor on occasion
A face that hasn’t seen the sun and
Hands of a craftsman
He's the boss, he's the boss

He likes to play the cowboy
In talks and gatherings
Talking about the past
Of cowboys and big horses
Bragging about waking up early and
Saddling up at dawn
But at the first sign of trouble
He’s clinging to the crosses
He's the boss, he's the boss

Paternal with the workers
He preaches a motto
Worried about the catechism
And that mass doesn’t miss
He puts a saint at the gate
And a crucifix on the property
He pays the workers little
But he's a godfather to their kids
He's the boss, he's the boss