Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song El Argentinito, artist - Leon Gieco.
Date of issue: 31.12.2010
Song language: Spanish
El Argentinito(original) |
Ese pequeño argentinito que llevamos |
Va colgado como gajo de la mano |
Bien peinado con corbata y mocasín |
Va gritando sólo para hacerse ver |
Saca la lengua mientra vamos caminando |
Y se revuelca entre lo que descarte |
Se persigna con el agua de cuneta de la insignia de ayer |
Picapleitos paranoico y desconfiado |
Va puteando con voz de ventrílocuo |
Es apostólico, católico y romano |
Delator, miliquito y monitor y |
Festejo los goles de aquel mundial |
Así los llantos de el no los pudo tapar |
Conmemoró con mil banderas argentinas al borracho del balcón |
Este pequeño argentinito que llevamos |
Va colgado como gajo de la mano |
Odia piquetes y a los pobres de la esquina |
Guay si la que maneja el auto es una mina |
Junta las ramas con espinas de los parques |
Y te las clava en las patas hasta sangrar |
Naturalmente es fracasado y te hace ver que aun perdiendo es ganador |
Pone pajaritos en la licuadora |
Y con un palo tumba horneros de pared |
Se hace chupar por la ambulancia y la sirena |
Y todos creen que esta allí por familiar |
Y cuando ve la 31 del avión sueña |
Con topadoras como solución |
Vota inútiles y al tiempo te hace creer |
Que jamás él los votó |
Este pequeño argentinito que llevamos |
Va colgado como gajo de la mano |
Orina todas las macetas de la tía |
Y le tira los gatitos del balcón |
Pone dulce de leche en las zapatos de los amigos |
Que quedaron a dormir |
Ensarta sapos con las flechas de su arco |
Y muestra su trofeo al fin |
Periférico, vacío y egoísta |
Cree que todo el mundo piensa en él |
Rompe botellas en los tachos de comida |
Así los pobres no se acercan ni a ver |
Y se lleva la pelota del partido |
Porque es suya y es un regalo del papa |
Va enojado porque el gol que le metieron |
No lo deja ya ganar |
(translation) |
That little argentinito that we carry |
It hangs like a piece of the hand |
Well groomed with tie and moccasin |
He goes screaming just to be seen |
Stick out your tongue while we're walking |
And he wallows in what he discards |
He crosses himself with the gutter water of yesterday's badge |
Paranoid and suspicious shyster |
He is bitching with the voice of a ventriloquist |
He is apostolic, catholic and roman |
Informer, soldier and monitor and |
I celebrate the goals of that World Cup |
So he couldn't cover his cries |
He commemorated the drunk on the balcony with a thousand Argentine flags |
This little argentinito that we carry |
He hangs like a piece of the hand |
He hates pickets and the poor on the corner |
Cool if the one who drives the car is a mine |
He gathers the thorny branches of the parks |
And sticks them in your legs until they bleed |
Naturally he is unsuccessful and makes you see that even losing he is a winner |
Puts little birds in the blender |
And with a stick he knocks down wall ovens |
He gets sucked off by the ambulance and the siren |
And everyone thinks he's there by family |
And when he sees number 31 on the plane he dreams |
With bulldozers as a solution |
Vote useless and at the same time makes you believe |
That he never voted for them |
This little argentinito that we carry |
He hangs like a piece of the hand |
Piss all the pots from the aunt |
And he throws the kittens off the balcony |
Put dulce de leche in the shoes of friends |
who stayed to sleep |
He skewers frogs with the arrows of his bow |
And shows her trophy of him at last |
Peripheral, empty and selfish |
He thinks that everyone thinks of him |
Break bottles in food bins |
So the poor don't even get close to see |
And he gets the ball of the game |
Because it's yours and it's a gift from the pope |
He is angry because the goal they scored |
He won't let him win anymore |