Cura Guerrillero
En la actualidad
Hay tres corrientes en las filas de la iglesia
La tradicionalmente conservadora
Otra que se hace pasar por progresista
Pero esto es solo un disfraz que oculta
Su oportunismo futurista
Saben que el cambio viene
Y el clero siempre ha estado con el vencedor
Entre estas dos nos e cual es la más peligrosa
Y por último la sincera y autentica
La militante y revolucionaria
Herencia de Morelos e Hidalgo
Que tiene su máximo exponente contemporáneo
El Padre Camilo Torres
Era un cura sin aureola
Era un cura sin rosario
Era un cura sin santuario
Era un cura proletario
Le quitaron la sotana
La estola se la robaron
Le quitaron las sandalias
Y al monte lo remontaron
Cuando se sintió desnudo
Sin votos sin camiseta
Se vistió de verde olivo
Y oficia con metralleta
Con el dedo en el gatillo
Decía sus oraciones
Rezaba por que los hombres
Hicieran revoluciones
Como andaba de solitario
Se reunió con labradores
Por buscar la libertad
Los llaman agitadores
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Ahora el cura proletario
Dejo de ser milagrero
Ya no es cura mercenario
Ya es cura guerrillero
Con el dedo en el gatillo
Decía sus oraciones
Rezaba por que los hombres
Hicieran revoluciones
Guerilla Priest
In present times
There are three currents in the church ranks
The traditionally conservative
Another one pretending to be progressive
But this is just a disguise that hides
Their futuristic opportunism
They know change is coming
And the clergy has always been with the victor
Between these two, I don't know which one is the most dangerous
And finally, the sincere and authentic
The militant and revolutionary
Inheritance of Morelos and Hidalgo
With its contemporary maximum exponent
Father Camilo Torres
He was a priest without a halo
He was a priest without a rosary
He was a priest without a sanctuary
He was a proletarian priest
They took away his cassock
They stole his stole
They took away his sandals
And they took him to the mountains
When he felt naked
Without vows, without a shirt
He dressed in olive green
And officiated with a machine gun
With his finger on the trigger
He said his prayers
He prayed for men
To make revolutions
As he walked alone
He met with farmers
For seeking freedom
They call them agitators
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Now the proletarian priest
Stopped being a miracle worker
He is no longer a mercenary priest
He is now a guerilla priest
With his finger on the trigger
He said his prayers
He prayed for men
To make revolutions