Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song El rastro, artist - Marea. Album song Coces al Aire 1997-2007, in the genre Иностранный рок
Date of issue: 03.12.2007
Record label: Warner Music Spain
Song language: Spanish
El rastro(original) |
Voy a prenderme en la solapa |
Un caer que huele a flores, |
Un plantel con desamores, |
Y a hacerme un verso que te cagas |
Para ver si alguien lo traga |
Y engalana mis balcones, |
No me hagas ni puto caso |
Si paso a tu vera |
Vendiendo fracaso como si fuera hierbabuena, |
Aunque las gitanas guapas no lo vendan ms barato |
En el rastro donde pulen la tristeza, |
Hoy traigo un trino que da calma, |
Que est ronco de aguardiente, |
Que est harto de la gente, |
Y traigo el peine de mi alma, |
Que ya est hasta los cojones |
De peinar tirabuzones, |
No me hagas ni puto caso |
Si paso a tu vera |
Vendiendo fracaso como si fuera hierbabuena, |
Aunque las gitanas guapas no lo vendan ms barato |
En el rastro donde pulen la tristeza, |
Te regalo mi fogata a fuego lento, |
Pa tus ojos de sarmiento, |
Y que no amanezca hoy, |
Por un beso yo me arrastro como un sapo, |
Como un prncipe en harapos, |
En fin… Como lo que soy, |
Y pa que no me eches en falta |
Llorando como un chiquillo |
Al ver marchar mi mercadillo |
Te dejo el sueo que ms quiero, |
Para anclarlo en tu sombrero |
O para hacerte unos zarcillos. |
(translation) |
I'm going to catch on the lapel |
A fall that smells of flowers, |
A campus with heartbreaks, |
And to make me a verse that you shit |
To see if anyone swallows it |
And decorate my balconies, |
don't pay any attention to me |
If I pass by your side |
Selling failure like mint |
Although the pretty gypsies don't sell it cheaper |
In the trace where they polish sadness, |
Today I bring a trill that gives calm, |
That he is hoarse from aguardiente, |
That he's fed up with people, |
And I bring the comb of my soul, |
That is up to the balls |
of combing ringlets, |
don't pay any attention to me |
If I pass by your side |
Selling failure like mint |
Although the pretty gypsies don't sell it cheaper |
In the trace where they polish sadness, |
I give you my simmering campfire, |
For your eyes of vine, |
And don't let it dawn today, |
For a kiss I crawl like a toad, |
Like a prince in rags, |
In short… As what I am, |
And so you don't miss me |
crying like a child |
Seeing my flea market go |
I leave you the dream that I love the most, |
To anchor it on your hat |
Or to make yourself some earrings. |