Idolo de Los Quemados

I'm a mix of folk music, the Internet, and old tango
There's nothing more beautiful
Than Rivero's slang
When I go with Don Sixto
Through the streets of fresh air
We never stop to look at the posters
It's part of the folklore
It's part of the excess

I'm a mix of folk music, the Internet, and old tango
There's nothing more beautiful
Than Rivero's slang
I dream of walking through Buenos Aires
And having coffee with Sabat
To fly for a bit on Gardel's wings
A dream from 2001
And from 3000 too

When I left, my old man advised me not to live
In San Miguel, Moreno, Ituzaingó, or Haedo
Just go straight to where the presidents are
So, at Moreno 411 and Defensa
In a filthy boarding house
This head got settled

When there's no choice, the people suffer and endure
And even if it's a bit slow, they'll always head to the Plaza
The Plaza belongs to the years and the holy mothers
Who search for their children and will keep searching
It's part of the history
It's part of the blood

I give a donation to Martín Fierro and Don Quixote
Who are tired of fighting, begging in Plaza Once
Don't treat me like a God
I'm just a bag that puts on shows
I miss my mom in the bathrobe syndrome
I'm a broken doll
Next to the Bible and the water heater

There's a rotten old man who burned the blooming garden
And has a dumbass son with a killer's face
We know this town still lives on promises
Argentinian women were more after Eva
If they exist, they exist
You'll never have your street, Alsogaray

Buy me, I'm cheap
I sing for free in the neighborhoods
Since I don't fit your target
Don't play me on your radio
I call for jail and punishment for corrupts and killers
If the law doesn't reach, you're a person who's not welcome
I became an atheist, just like that
Videla used my God to kill

You who blame
Bolivians and Peruvians
Those who block roads
Or are claiming their lands
Don't be so dumb, the one who messes with you is by your side
The newspapers give him the front page and the TV a good time slot
He sits at any table
To negotiate the new blood

I'm just another warrior
Of this broken rock
I'm here for the handout
I'm the idol of the burned
I don't really know where I'm going
The song has its mysteries
I like the tranquility of an old cemetery
Fear the living
The dead will never harm you