Se Llamaba Serafín

They called him Serafín
In the neighborhood of tin cans
Funyi, tongue, and espadrilles
And a never-ending gaze

He had a reputation as a smooth talker
When he was among strangers
And if someone crossed the line
He would definitely get into a fight
He would definitely get into a fight
And right there, he would embroider
A mask for the fanciest one

But one day a cardboard man
From an unknown neighborhood
Cut off his last name
With a point, a slash, and a blow
Left him with half a nose
An ear like a watermelon
One eye looking the other way
He gave him a slap of cold cuts
He gave him a slap of cold cuts
And for dessert
A dance with the girl he had!

After this 'festival'
He dedicated himself to drinking
With long hair, dirty suit
I have never seen such misery

Never again did the suburb
See him in the daylight
Nor bullfighting as he knew
And they say in the tin
And they say in the tin
That he died right at the end of the year
Toasting with cold milk!