Navajazos Por Un Chandal
Ya no piensan los obreros
como pensaban los abuelos,
y se quitan el sombrero
cuando pasa el usurero.
Luego dicen que es mentira,
luego dicen que no olvidan,
pero nunca hay desacato
que no mande el sindicato.
Y es muy duro ser obrero
y sentirse como un perro,
siempre perdonando al amo:
malos tratos, malos platos.
Y por todos es sabido
que hubo sangre derramada,
pero todo se ha perdido,
hubo sangre para nada.
Ahora luchan entre ellos,
cuando llegan las rebajas
se disputan las migajas.
Navajazos por un chandal.
Ya no quiero ser obrero,
ni trabajar "pal" usurero,
ni sentirme como un perro,
cuando me quito el sombrero.
Stabs for a Tracksuit
The workers no longer think
as their grandparents did,
and they tip their hats
when the usurer passes by.
Then they say it's a lie,
then they say they don't forget,
but there's never a disobedience
that the union doesn't command.
And it's very hard to be a worker
and feel like a dog,
always forgiving the master:
bad treatment, bad food.
And it's well known by all
that there was spilled blood,
but everything has been lost,
there was blood for nothing.
Now they fight among themselves,
when the sales arrive
they fight over the crumbs.
Stabs for a tracksuit.
I don't want to be a worker anymore,
nor work for the usurer,
nor feel like a dog,
when I tip my hat.