Bajo El Tinglao

Put fire to the pot, don't be afraid, buddy,
that the stew with little fire
will turn out well-cooked.

Don't skimp on noodles, even if you die stuffed,
because believe it or not, dying full is not a sin.

Why go around in circles
all mixed together
you can't tell what's burnt, or what's missing.

Add some so they don't say, that you didn't enjoy it at all,
a little bit of brine, and a well-spoken insult.

There goes Don Casimiro, half drunk and broken,
cook of the ranch, faster than a laxative.

There goes Don Casimiro, quite stingy and crazy,
hiding among the hides, the vices he's cheated.

An old broken heel, half drunk and broken,
he sang and to avoid trouble,
he always acted drunk.

Put fire to the pot, let the dirt boil carelessly,
the pigs are waiting
drinking mate under the tinglao.

A blown-out caracu falls onto the aluminum plate,
spotted with the dirt
of potatoes that haven't even been peeled.
Life is a stew
when one is in a bad way,
a little stew with slow fire
but sometimes burnt.

There goes Don Casimiro
half drunk and broken,
cook of the ranch
faster than a laxative.
There goes Don Casimiro...