La Dels Beatles
Trau la botella de vi, para taula i mantell
Com per a una boda, com per al rei
Tria un vestit que no estiga de moda
Sense vergonya, sense remei
Ret-li homenatge a la mort del teu odi
Crida, salvatge, la fe del convers. Uff
Cauen com a mosques a la mel, pleitesia
Tant no volaven, no eren ocells, no
Posaven trampes, posaven frens, contaven
Coses
Pensen que saben, saben que tens
I no fluixen ni en ràpid ni en lent
Toni, sap per dimoni, i sap més per vell
Sent les pulletes per aire, per mar
Posen de luxe, rapegen tan mal
I diuen boles, van a les modes, malgasten bolis
No calen pedres, cauen a soles
És la clau i no el martell
No és la ploma, és el pinzell
Tots guardem un secret
Una fe: Jura, promet
Ni retrets, ni flors, ni lleis
No és el cor, són els budells
Eixe pis està net?
Besaran per on xafe el monet
Tan tard, sempre tan tard
No canvia mai la persona
Canvia el grau de soledat
I el mal, pesa a les mans
Perquè els marrons es fan bola
I el talent que s'ha amagat
I els remou més el passat
Records que no alimenten, records que donen fam
Llestos però abandonats, eixos van ser llestos sempre
Jo ja sé que t'agraden més Els Beatles
Que li falta força al vers
Però amic, no em crucifiques
Que el que fa tot el que pot, mai està obligat a més
The Beatles Fan
Pour the bottle of wine, for table and cloth
Like for a wedding, like for the king
Choose a dress that's not out of style
Without shame, without remedy
Pay homage to the death of your hatred
Shout, wild, the faith of the convert. Uff
They fall like flies to honey, flattery
They didn't fly, they weren't birds, no
They set traps, they put brakes, they counted
Things
They think they know, they know you
And they don't flow neither fast nor slow
Toni, knows by damn, and knows more by old
Feeling the bullets through the air, through the sea
They put on airs, they scratch so badly
And they talk nonsense, they follow trends, they waste pens
No need for stones, they fall on their own
It's the key and not the hammer
It's not the feather, it's the brush
We all keep a secret
A faith: Swear, promise
No reproaches, no flowers, no laws
It's not the heart, it's the guts
Is that floor clean?
They'll kiss where I step on the coin
So late, always so late
The person never changes
The degree of loneliness changes
And the pain weighs on the hands
Because the problems pile up
And the talent that's been hidden
And the past stirs them up more
Memories that don't nourish, memories that make you hungry
Ready but abandoned, they were always ready
I already know you like The Beatles more
That the verse lacks strength
But friend, don't crucify me
Because whoever does everything they can, is never obligated to more