| I hit an old man
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| Because he missed me on the street
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| And a year later, when I found out
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| That man was my father
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| drops of blood I cried
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| Because he comes from inheritance
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| Of some honorable gypsies
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| And from a canastero family
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| And I will always be by your side
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| And I will not leave your side
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| the girl was
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| The girl was a canastera
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| and the one who loved me
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| And she didn't leave my side
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| neither talking nor talking
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| My sorrows consolation feel
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| No more than you're looking at me
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| The one who washed my handkerchief
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| She was a black gypsy
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| Blackberry from the Morería
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| She washed it for me in cold water
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| She handed it to me in the rosemary
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| And I sang him por bulerías
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| While the handkerchief dried
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| The Sun leads his career
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| Don't put your hand on me
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| that no one will take away from me
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| that I love you
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| the stars were amazed
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| From seeing to passing to a pearl
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| brunette, pretty, gypsy
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| That they had called from heaven
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| The old world
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| That the black and white horse
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| of day and night
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| gallop across
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| You are the sad palace
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| Where a hundred princes dreamed of glory
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| Where a hundred kings dreamed of love
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| And they woke up crying
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| I carry the no that you gave me
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| In the palm of the hand
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| Like a wax lemon
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| Like an almost white lemon
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| With flint rock
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| I have made myself a candlestick
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| For me to be able to light up
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| Because I don't want more light
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| I live in the dark
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| I'm following one by one
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| the stars of the heavens
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| between red and yellow
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| Under the light of silence
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| such a cold night
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| And dark velvet
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| When she put on the mantilla
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| His mop of black hair
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| She crashed next to mine
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| His mouth of him giving me kisses
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| And even she cried with joy
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| Yet the
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| bank of a river
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| I'm going alone
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| And I start to take double crochet
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| Early in the morning
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| I put on and make my basket
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| come with me to my house
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| That is by the side of a river
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| And between varetas and reeds
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| Wild rose bushes are born
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| take the jacket
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| And give me the panties |