Que Un Toro Bravo En Su Muerte

You have to shed more blood
Than a brave little bull in its death.
I don't know how you have the courage
To speak badly of me.

Come on, ugly, go away,
Your body smells like a witch
Like the sailor smells of pitch.

Down there you can see a fountain
Of lime and sandstone
Where my mountain girl drinks
Water from the new fountain.

I would put
A bridge for you to cross
From your little house to mine.