La Cuyanita

I call you Cuyo, for San Luis, San Juan, and Mendoza.
I call you Cuyo, for San Luis, San Juan, and Mendoza.
Cueca tunes, perfuming the rows,
And they take off like doves, if only I could reach them.

I drink and I insist, there I have good friends,
They have skill, to party from festivity to festivity,
And get drunk on small sips with the flavor of the vines.

You'll always find me staying up late,
Or in a Cuyan siesta of tree-lined serenades,
If it's a pleasure to pay tribute, long live Cuyo, gentlemen.

A folk song, as they say, fills your soul,
A folk song, as they say, fills your soul,
By the irrigation ditches, someone lets their sorrows flow,
And heartbreaks are forgotten with guitars and singers.

Pride walks through the vineyards of this land,
The red and white, the lords owners of the land,
Not to mention their people,
If it's the coolest thing they have.

You'll always find me staying up late,
Or in a Cuyan siesta of tree-lined serenades,
If it's a pleasure to pay tribute, long live Cuyo, gentlemen.