Mataderos blues

-Black, beautiful sunrise-
said Miguel,
and the whole industrial neighborhood,
under the mist.

And when
the first ray of sun came in
the tavern, it woke up.

Numb obsession,
the pretty factory girls pass by,
-Wow, sweetie,
that blue jean looks so good on you-.

Slaughterhouse blues
for you,
sweetie,
true Buenos Aires blues.

Slaughterhouse blues
for you,
fancy,
full of bus, real greasy blues,
to sing to it,
to sing to the suburb.

Children of the slaughterhouse,
the gang gathered is happy,
talking about soccer, boxing,
if Chicago went down,
the drama of this institution
and everyone holding on tight,
and be careful not to fall
down the alcohol stairs,
I want to climb a chimera,
I want to get off,
I want to get off the pain.

Slaughterhouse blues
for you,
sweetie.

Slaughterhouse blues
for you,
fancy,
full of bus, real greasy blues,
because we are,
because we like it,
and we will always sing
to the suburb.

Slaughterhouse blues
for you.