| In a small village near La Plaza Mexico lived a boy
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| Not so many years ago
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| And hunger was his enemy every day
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| But he never begged the boy called Jose
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| And every day he worked in the fields he worked well
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| And when the night came this boy slept where he fell
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| And the earth was the only mother he ever knew some people say
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| And she gave him strenght
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| And he grew to be a man called Jose (Jose Jose)
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| One Sunday afternnon this young man saw his first bullfight
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| And his blood ran hot and he couldn’t sleep that night
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| And as the morning came he thought he heard his mother say
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| Now you know why you were born Jose
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| And he lived for one thing and nothing more
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| He had to be the very best matador
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| And when he killed his first bull one bright Sunday
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| You could hear a lace a hundred miles for Jose (Jose Jose)
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| And as his fame grew his fortune grew too
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| But he gave much of this fortune away
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| Because he knew that other’s fight is old enemy hunger every day
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| And so many times he heard God bless you Jose
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| And the years passed and Jose said I’ll fight great bulls no more
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| The younger men they better sooth it for
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| The Sunday game with its blood and its death to pay
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| You’ll soon forget the matador Jose (Jose Jose)
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| And the next morning we found him lying on the ground
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| He didn’t move he didn’t make a sound
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| And yet we heard from somewhere someone say
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| Welcome home my little boy Jose (Jose Jose Jose Jose) |