Angelitos Negros
Ah Mundo, la negra Juana lo malo que le pasó,
Se le murió su negrito... sí señor.
Hay compadrito del alma, ay del alma
tan sano que estaba el negro
como ella se consumía lo medía con su cuerpo
se le iba poniendo flaco como ella se iba poniendo.
Se le murió su negrito, ay su negrito
Dios lo tendría dispuesto
ya lo tendrá colocao como angelito en el cielo
¡desengáñese compadre que no hay angelitos negros!
Pintor de santos de alcoba, oye de alcoba
si tienes alma en el cuerpo
por qué al pintar en tus cuadros
no te acuerdas de los negros
entonces adónde van morenitos de mi pueblo.
Pintor nacido en mi tierra, oye en mi tierra
con el pincel extranjero
pintor que sigues el rumbo de tantos pintores viejos
aunque la virgen sea blanca
píntame angelitos negros.
No hay un pintor que pintara, ay que pintara
angelitos de mi pueblo
yo quiero angelitos blancos con angelitos morenos
ángel de buena familia no basta para mi cielo.
Si queda un pintor de santos, oye de santos
si queda un pintor de cielo
que haga el cielo de mi tierra con los tonos de mi pueblo
con su ángel de perlafina con su ángel de mediopelo.
Con sus ángeles morenos, hay morenos
con sus angelitos blancos
con sus angelitos indios con sus angelitos negros
que vayan comiendo mango por la barriada del cielo.
Si sabes pintar tu tierra, oye tu tierra
si has de pintar tu cielo
como el sol que tuesta blancos como el sol que suda negros
aunque la virgen sea blanca píntame angelitos negros.
Black Little Angels
Oh World, the black Juana, the bad things that happened to her,
Her little black child died... yes sir.
There's a soul mate, oh soul mate
As healthy as the black was
As she wasted away, she measured it with her body
He was getting thin as she was wasting away.
Her little black child died, oh her little black child
God must have taken him
He must have him placed as an angel in heaven
Don't fool yourself buddy, there are no black little angels!
Painter of saints in the bedroom, listen in the bedroom
If you have a soul in your body
Why when you paint in your pictures
Don't you remember the black ones
Where do the little dark ones from my town go then.
Painter born in my land, listen in my land
With the foreign brush
Painter who follows the path of so many old painters
Even if the Virgin is white
Paint me black little angels.
There's no painter who painted, oh who painted
Little angels from my town
I want white angels with dark angels
Angels from a good family are not enough for my heaven.
If there's a painter of saints left, listen of saints
If there's a painter of heaven left
Make the heaven of my land with the tones of my town
With its pearl angel, with its half-baked angel.
With its dark angels, yes dark ones
With its white little angels
With its Indian little angels, with its black little angels
Eating mangoes in the neighborhood of heaven.
If you know how to paint your land, listen to your land
If you're going to paint your heaven
Like the sun that tans whites, like the sun that sweats blacks
Even if the Virgin is white, paint me black little angels.