El Caballo Blanco

This is the corrido of the white horse
That on a happy Sunday would start
He aimed to reach the North
Having left Guadalajara

His noble rider took off the reins
Took off the saddle and went bareback
He crossed like lightning through Nayarit lands
Between green hills and the blue of the sky

At a slower pace, he reached Escuinapa
And by Culiacán, he was already slowing down
They say in Los Mochis, he was falling
His whole muzzle bleeding

But they saw him pass through Sonora
And the Yaqui Valley gave him tenderness
They say he limped on his left leg
And despite everything, he continued his adventure

He arrived in Hermosillo, he continued...