Farabute
Farabute ilusionado por la mersa de magnates
Que enfarolan su presencia con suntuosa posición
No manyás pobre franela, que aquél que nació en un catre
A vivir modestamente la suerte lo condenó
Sos la escoria remanyada que esgunfiás con tu presencia
De chitrulo sin carpeta, residuo del arrabal
Tus hazañas de malevo al cuaderno de la ausencia
Con el lápiz del recuerdo te las voy a enumerar
Clandestino de carreras
A ratitos quinielero
Así te hacés las chirolas
Con que a veces te empilchás
En tu casa todo el año
A la hora del puchero
Enyantás de prepotencia
Lo que nunca te ganás
Deschavate farabute, no naciste pa cafishio
Al laburo dedicate que allí está tu salvación
Recordá tu madrecita, hace un mes en el hospicio
Muriendo a tus hermanitos suplicando señaló
Yo que en su triste existencia como trapo la has tratado
Ni un halago tan siquiera le supiste demostrar
Hoy tenés frente a la vida la misión que te ha encargado
Que la santa desde el cielo te sabrá recompensar
Scoundrel
Scoundrel, deluded by the nonsense of magnates
Who wrap their presence in sumptuous position
Don't think, poor rag, that one born in a cot
Is condemned to live modestly by fate
You are the rehashed scum that you flaunt with your presence
A cheap thug, residue of the slum
Your thug deeds in the notebook of absence
With the pencil of memory, I will enumerate them
Clandestine of races
Sometimes a gambler
That's how you make the coins
With which you sometimes dress up
At home all year
At mealtime
You swell with arrogance
What you never earn
Reveal yourself, scoundrel, you weren't born to be a pimp
Dedicate yourself to work, that's where your salvation lies
Remember your dear mother, a month ago in the hospice
Dying with your siblings, begging for help
I, who in her sad existence you've treated like a rag
Not even a compliment did you know how to show her
Today you have the mission that has been entrusted to you by life
The saint from heaven will know how to reward you
Escrita por: A. Casciani / J. Barreiro