Corridos

The lovers of the heights,
You can see their fangs later,
They fly throughout the mountains,
They don't care about danger,
To a first-class pilot,
I composed this corrido,

Crossing the desert,
Reaching the border,
He leaves from Surutato,
And to other parts of the mountains,
The value of a good pilot,
Is not found everywhere,

(Here it goes, buddy, four)

His comrade talks to him on the radio,
Wishing him luck,
The pilot of his plane,
Answers very smiling,
Guys, play me a corrido,
I want the plane of death!....

(In Tijuana they caught him without having a reason)..

Whenever he goes to the border,
He takes a buddy of rank,
Although they have pursued them,
He has never backed down,
They are cut from the same cloth,
They are two daring roosters,

To my little Pelocha,
I love him more than my life,
The mountains of Surutato,
My people are not forgotten,
I remember them all the time,
Whenever I go out,

Give me the coordinates,
I'm going through the desert,
The plane is loaded,
My buddy is well placed,
See you later, comrades,
We'll see each other upon my return.

(Here it goes, buddy, four)