Que Trata de Andalucia
Cartón de tinto y plazuela, en meyba
Y con chanclas de marca extranjera
Un móvil sin saldo, una moto en reserva
Sube la gasolina y tú planchas la oreja
Calles como las de ayer
Con piedras en el suelo y blancas de pared
Callos de platero, de guitarra y yo qué sé
Salen a los balcones con las chanclas en los pies
Si vas deprisa: Frena, no vale la pena
Que a estas horas el Sol siempre llega a la acera
Frena, no vale la pena, si buscas la sombra sabes de qué va el tema
Frena, no vale la pena
Que a estas horas el Sol siempre llega a la acera
Frena, no vale la pena, si buscas la sombra has llegado a mi tierra
Que trata de Andalucía prima, que no te enteras de na'
De calle estrechas de vino y de fiestas, y de perros con malafollá
Y no es por meterte miedo prima pero es que hay que espabilar
Que el Sol no te quema si buscas la sombra corriendo de aquí pa' allá
Bares de cañitas y tapas, plazuelas de choros granujas y canallas
Corros de palmas, de cajones y de guitarras y pa' los domingos el
Campito o la playa
Mira, mira, mira y calla rejas con macetas en mi barrio no fallan
Mira, mira, mira y calla rejas en los balcones de mi barrio no fallan
Que trata de Andalucía prima, que no te enteras de na'
De calle estrechas de vino y fiestas, y de perros con malafollá
Y no es por meterte miedo prima pero es que hay que espabilar
Que el Sol no te quema si buscas la sombra corriendo de aquí pa' allá
Calles como las de ayer
Calles como las de ayer
Con piedras en el suelo y blancas de pared
Callos de platero, de guitarra y yo qué sé
Salen a los balcones con las chanclas en los pies
Si vas deprisa: Frena, no vale la pena
Que a estas horas el Sol siempre llega a la acera
Frena, no vale la pena, si buscas la sombra has llegado a mi tierra
Que trata de Andalucía prima, que no te enteras de na'
De calle estrechas de vino y fiestas, y de perros con malafollá
Y no es por meterte miedo prima pero es que hay que espabilar
Que el Sol no te quema si buscas la sombra corriendo de aquí pa' allá
Que trata de Andalucía prima, que no te enteras de na'
De calle estrechas de vino y fiestas, y de perros con malafollá. (¡¿Qué?!)
Que trata de Andalucía prima, que no te enteras de na'
De calle estrechas de vino y fiestas, y de perros (de perros) con malafollá
About Andalusia
Carton of red wine and small square, in meyba
And with flip flops of foreign brands
A cell phone without credit, a motorcycle on reserve
Gasoline goes up and you iron your ear
Streets like those of yesterday
With stones on the ground and white walls
Silversmith's calluses, guitar calluses and what do I know?
They go out onto the balconies with flip-flops on their feet
If you're going fast: Slow down, it's not worth it
That at this time the Sun always reaches the sidewalk
Stop, it's not worth it, if you look for the shade you know what the subject is about
Stop, it's not worth it
That at this time the Sun always reaches the sidewalk
Stop, it's not worth it, if you're looking for shade you've come to my land
It's about Andalusia, cousin, you don't understand anything
Of narrow streets of wine and parties, and of bad-tempered dogs
And it's not to scare you cousin, but you have to wake up
The sun doesn't burn you if you look for shade running from here to there
Bars with beers and tapas, squares full of thieves, scoundrels and rascals
Circles of clapping, of drawers and of guitars and for the Sundays the
Little countryside or the beach
Look, look, look and be quiet, fences with flower pots in my neighborhood do not fail
Look, look, look and shut up, bars on the balconies of my neighborhood do not fail
It's about Andalusia, cousin, you don't understand anything
Of narrow streets of wine and parties, and of bad-tempered dogs
And it's not to scare you cousin, but you have to wake up
The sun doesn't burn you if you look for shade running from here to there
Streets like those of yesterday
Streets like those of yesterday
With stones on the ground and white walls
Silversmith's calluses, guitar calluses and what do I know?
They go out onto the balconies with flip-flops on their feet
If you're going fast: Slow down, it's not worth it
That at this time the Sun always reaches the sidewalk
Stop, it's not worth it, if you're looking for shade you've come to my land
It's about Andalusia, cousin, you don't understand anything
Of narrow streets of wine and parties, and of bad-tempered dogs
And it's not to scare you cousin, but you have to wake up
The sun doesn't burn you if you look for shade running from here to there
It's about Andalusia, cousin, you don't understand anything
Of narrow streets of wine and parties, and of bad-tempered dogs. (What?!)
It's about Andalusia, cousin, you don't understand anything
Of narrow streets of wine and parties, and of dogs (of dogs) with bad temper