Araca Paris

I left Puente Alsina for Montmartre,
where everyone tried to impress me:
'You have the look of a local to fit in
with the old French woman who goes to the dance hall...
What are you doing in Buenos Aires? Don't be a fool!
Forget those tangos from Tabaris;
with three tango steps you're a millionaire,
dark and Argentine, king of Paris.'

Araca, Paris... Cheers, Paris...
Get out of Montmartre; scram, you fool...
Araca, Paris... Cheers, Paris...
Cool French women you're going to impress;
come to the neighborhood and you'll have tangos,
light tangos that know how to love...
Araca, Paris... Cheers, Paris...
Get out of Montmartre; scram, you fool.

I caught a luxury train, happy as can be,
'Good evening, little one, I love you... You are my darling!'
with a fat one-eyed woman with a lot of wind,
who didn't give me a thing and ditched me.
I got angry and, tough guy, to show off,
a slap on her nose got stuck...
Police station, judges, and the passport,
and my life as a gigolo ended.