Che, Bartolo

Big shot from the slums, scoundrel of half and half
Brace yourself for this blow that I'm going to shake you with
I don't want to expose you for singing this tune
But because with your tricks you won't fool me
Hey, broke poser, I'll tell you something that makes me happy
To see you mingling among the riffraff pretending to be a big shot
They call you the fools The Marquis of Blackmouth
While they call me Chorro, The Blacksmith, or The Partridge

Hey, Bartolo
Realize if you've gone crazy
Trying to disguise yourself
Blackmouth
Let's see who is the mother-in-law
Who can put up with you!
Dressed in black
You only have your rap sheet
I don't even know how you hide it
Hey, Bartolo
As a convict, I ask you
To drop the last name
Of that noble Genoese

If the insolent monocle gives you a snobbish air
And that outfit makes you look like a marquis
Your old man doesn't carry himself the same way
Among the bar crowd, he drags his old age
I don't know with what picklock you've opened that hole
That us inmates of my rank call Society
I think you made a mistake, The Candomberos' Society
Is the right Society where you can hang out