Mazúrquica Modérnica

They have asked me several people
If dangerous for the music
Are the agitated songs
Oh, what a childish question!
Only a pinecone would ask it
For my innermost thoughts I would comment

I have answered the questioner
When the stomach asks for food
It makes the Christian firm and warlike
For its beans and its onions
There is no regiment that can stop them
If the people are hungry

Questioners, partygoers
Disguised and very malicious
They are more dangerous than the verses
More than the strikes and the defiles
Quietly they sign papers
They wash their hands like Pilate

Chivalrously starched
Starched mini, ni, ni, ni, ni
They throw carbon at the innocent
And comfortably sit in the armchairs
They count the dead from the encounters
As frivolous and bataclanic

The story has several killings
In its well-printed pages
To mount them, it was not necessary
The flashy revolutionary
The oath never fulfilled
Is the cause of discontent
Neither the workers, nor the little ones
Have the blame, Mr. Prosecutor

What I sing is an answer
To a question from some jokers
And I sing no more because I don't want to
I have weakness in my shoes
In my hair, in my clothes
In my kidneys and in my body