Veraneo en Puerto Hurraco

Spain is no longer red, Spain is not blue,
Spain now and forever is black as pitch.
To die or kill for cheating in mus.
You have to choose: Cabanillas or Izquierdo.
You have to choose: to be alive or to be sane.
You have to choose: to be crazy or to be dead.
You have to choose: the butcher or the pig.
Welcome to the hunt, welcome to the revenge.
Welcome to Puerto Hurraco, welcome to Almansa.
The nobility of its people, its wines and its women,
its history and its monuments, the horror and the death.
I summer in Puerto Hurraco.
Normal people who kill with an axe
their subnormal children.
Housewives who empty their daughters
because they are possessed.
Shot to the shoe shiner who wanted to be a bullfighter.
For miserable inheritances, for a little money,
you stab your cousin, you knife your uncle.
And somewhere in limbo is Paulino
saying happily: 'these are my children'.
I summer in Puerto Hurraco.
Vacation in Cambodia? Bullshit!
I summer in Puerto Hurraco.