Murio el malevo   Leave a comment


Updated 10/19/10 

MURIO EL MALEVO
The street fighter died (1953)
LYRICS by: Carlos Waiss
MUSIC by: Hector Varela
TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz
Last updated on: 10/8/10
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Sing along with Rodolfo Lesica with the Hector Varela orchestra
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CASTELLANO
ENGLISH
El barrio rezonga, se ha muerto el malevo
que triste y callado quedo el arrabal
la noche parece vestirse de duelo
y tiembla la sangre que enluta un puñal. 

Pensar que un mocoso de puro atrevido
busco madrugarlo para hacerse cartel
y en cuanto el malevo tanteaba el cuchillo
tenia hasta el mango clavado el de el.

La cortada lloro sangre y apretandose la herida
fue boqueando en su agonia por el viejo callejon
Ni una mano ni un amigo, le ayudo a cerrar los ojos
Ni unos tibios labios rojos le rezaron un adios.

(Recitado)
Pobre guapo, lo achuraron como a res de matadero
y hoy, y hoy a cada conventillo, llega un cacho de emocion
(Cantado)
En la ronda de un boliche, entonandose un gargero
mientras cuenta alguna hazaña por el malevo que murio.

“Lo vieron plantado, guapear sin alardes
jugarse una carta de frente a un rival
copando un cariño de dos ojos negros
manojos de celos de aquel arrabal.”

La Tierra del Fuego no pudo domarlo
diez años de carcel su hombrada pago.
Su pobre viejita de tanto llorarlo
mordiendo su angustia de pena murio.

The neighborhood grumbles, has died the street fighter
how sad and quiet the suburb has become
the night seems to dress up with mourning
and the blood trembles casting a shadow over a dagger. 

To think that an insolent brat punk
tried to catch him off guard to show off
and as the brawler fumbled for his knife
he already had the other’s buried to the handle into him.

The wound wept blood, and clutching the wound
he was gasping in agony by the old alley
Not a hand or a friend helped him close his eyes
Nor any warm red lips prayed him a goodbye.

(Recited)
Poor fighter, they gut him like a slaughterhouse’s cow
and today, and today to each tenement, there comes a piece of emotion
(Sung)
In the round of a cantina, alcohol in the windpipe
there is a telling of some feat of the fighter who died.

“The saw him standing up, defiant without fanfare
Taking a stand in front of a rival
monopolizing the fondness of two black eyes
bunchs of jealousy from that suburb.”

Tierra del Fuego could not tame him
ten years in jail, he paid for his manly act.
His poor old mother, from crying so much
biting her anguish, she died of heartache.

Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2010 All Rights Reserved

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