Lyrics of El Bulín de la Calle Ayacucho - Anibal Troilo, Fiorentino

El Bulín de la Calle Ayacucho (original)

El bulin de la calle Ayacucho
que en mis tiempos de rana alquilaba,
el bulin que la barra buscaba
para caer por la noche a timbear;
el bulin donde tantos muchachos
en su racha de vida fulera
encontraron marroco y catrera,
rechiflado parece llorar.
El «primus"no me fallaba
con su carga de agua ardiente
y habiendo agua caliente
el mate era alli señor;
no faltaba la guitarra
bien encordada y lustrosa
ni el bacan de voz gangosa
con berretin de cantor.
Cotorrito mistongo tirado
en el fondo de aquel conventillo,
sin alfombras, sin lujo y sin brillo,
cuantos dias felices pase
al calor del querer de una piba
que fue mia, mimosa y sincera,
y una noche de invierno y fulera
en un vuelo, hacia el cielo se fue.
cada cosa era un recuerdo
que la vida me anargaba,
por eso me la pasaba
cabrero, rante y triston;
los muchachos se cortaron
al verme tan afligido,
y yo me quede en el nido
empollando mi aflicción.
El bulin de la calle Ayacucho
ha quedado mistongo y fulero,
ya no se oye al cantor milonguero
engrupido su musa entonar;
y en el «primus"no bulle la pava
que a la barra contenta reunia,
y el bacan de la rante alegria
esta seco de tanto llorar.

(translation)

The bulin of Ayacucho street
that in my frog days I rented,
the bulin that the bar was looking for
to fall at night to timbear;
the bulin where so many boys
in his streak of life fulera
they found morocco and catrera,
whistled seems to cry.
The "primus" did not fail me
with its charge of fiery water
and having hot water
the mate was there sir;
the guitar was not missing
well strung and lustrous
nor the baccan with the twangy voice
with a singer's berretin
Mistongo parrot lying
at the bottom of that tenement,
without carpets, without luxury and without shine,
how many happy days have passed
to the heat of a girl's love
that was mine, cuddly and sincere,
and a winter night and fulera
in a flight, towards the sky he left.
everything was a memory
that life annoyed me,
that's why I spent it
goatherd, rante and triston;
the boys cut themselves
seeing me so afflicted,
and I stayed in the nest
brooding my affliction.
The bulin of Ayacucho street
it has remained mistongo and fulero,
you no longer hear the milonguero singer
engulfed his muse to sing;
and in the "primus" the kettle does not boil
that the happy bar gathered,
and the bacchanalian joy
He is dry from crying so much.