Ramito De Violetas
Era feliz en su matrimonio aunque su marido era el mismo demonio
Tenía el hombre un poco de mal genio
Ella se quejaba de que nunca fue tierno
Desde hace ya más de tres años recibe cartas de un extraño
Cartas llenas de poesía que le han devuelto la alegría
Quién te escribía a ti versos, dime niña quién era (era, era, era, era)
Quien te mandaba flores en primavera, (era, era, era, era) con amor las recibías
Como siempre sin tarjeta
Te mandaba un ramito de violetas
A veces sueña ella y se imagina
Cómo será aquél que a ella tanto la estima
Será más bien hombre de pelo cano
Sonrisa abierta y ternura en sus manos
Quién será aquél, sufre en silencio
Quién puede ser su amor secreto
Ella que no sabe nada mira a su marido y luego se calla
Quién te escribía a ti versos, dime niña quién era (era, era, era, era)
Quien te mandaba flores en primavera, (era, era, era, era) con amor las recibías, como siempre sin tarjeta
Te mandaba un ramito de violetas
En cada tarde al volver su esposo
Cansado del trabajo va y la mira de reojo
No dice nada porque el lo sabe todo
Ella es feliz así de cualquier modo
Pues él quien le escribe versos, él es su amante, su amor secreto
Ella que no sabe nada mira a su marido y luego se calla
Quién te escribía a ti versos, dime niña quién era. (era, era, era, era) Quien mandaba flores en primavera (era, era, era, era)
Con amor las recibías, como siempre sin tarjeta
Te mandaba un ramito de violeta
Sha-raira, sha-raira, sha-raira, rara-irarai
Sha-raira, sha-raira, sha-raira, ra
Bouquet of Violets
She was happy in her marriage even though her husband was the devil himself
The man had a bit of a bad temper
She complained that he was never tender
For more than three years now, she has been receiving letters from a stranger
Letters full of poetry that have brought her joy
Who was writing verses to you, tell me girl who he was
Who sent you flowers in the spring, with love you received them
As always without a card
He sent you a bouquet of violets
Sometimes she dreams and imagines
What the one who esteems her so much will be like
He will probably be a man with gray hair
Open smile and tenderness in his hands
Who could he be, suffering in silence
Who could be her secret love
She who knows nothing looks at her husband and then stays silent
Who was writing verses to you, tell me girl who he was
Who sent you flowers in the spring, with love you received them, as always without a card
He sent you a bouquet of violets
Every evening when her husband returns
Tired from work, he looks at her sideways
He says nothing because he knows everything
She is happy like this in any case
Because he who writes her verses, he is her lover, her secret love
She who knows nothing looks at her husband and then stays silent
Who was writing verses to you, tell me girl who he was
Who sent you flowers in the spring, with love you received them, as always without a card
He sent you a bouquet of violets
Sha-raira, sha-raira, sha-raira, rara-irarai
Sha-raira, sha-raira, sha-raira, ra