| I sing to the chillaneja | 
| If I have to say something | 
| And I don't take the guitar | 
| for getting a round of applause | 
| I sing to the difference | 
| What about the true to the false | 
| Otherwise I don't sing | 
| I'm going to talk to you right away | 
| Of a very alarming case | 
| Attention the audience that goes | 
| To swallow the purgative | 
| now that we celebrate | 
| The most gallant 18 | 
| The flag is a painkiller | 
| I spend the month of September | 
| with a grown heart | 
| Of grief and feeling | 
| From seeing my people afflicted | 
| And the people loving the country | 
| and so unrequited | 
| The emblem by witness | 
| In command is important | 
| Pledge of Allegiance | 
| Your words resonate with me | 
| Tricolor chains | 
| With armed bailiffs | 
| In squares and in malls | 
| And in front of the churches | 
| Guardian Angels | 
| They came from another planet | 
| Because his cloudy look | 
| Your bad party blood | 
| Unholy drums sound | 
| Bugles and balloons | 
| Painful the retreat | 
| I affirm, Mr. Minister, that | 
| the truth is dead | 
| Today you swear falsely | 
| For pure taste no more | 
| They deceive the innocent | 
| without a need | 
| And above the freedom | 
| There goes the vicar | 
| With his word of him blessed | 
| could your holiness | 
| hear me a little word | 
| The children are hungry | 
| give them a medal | 
| Or a little flag | 
| That's why your honor | 
| Says the wise Solomon | 
| There's discontent in heaven | 
| In Chuquilla, in Concepción | 
| The copihue no longer blooms | 
| And the hummingbird does not sing | 
| centennial of pain | 
| a wealthy gentleman | 
| Sharp as a dagger | 
| He looks at me with his eyes | 
| Of a mighty volcano | 
| And with golden lightning | 
| Swipe your charity | 
| Cueca of gold and freedom | 
| From above the moon shines | 
| With such bitter truth | 
| Luisa's house | 
| what expects motherhood | 
| Her screams reach the sky | 
| No one will listen to her | 
| at the national holiday | 
| Luisa has no home | 
| Not a candle, not a diaper | 
| The child was born in the hands | 
| of which she is singing | 
| For a trail of blood | 
| Tomorrow he will go to the (?) | 
| National bitter cueca | 
| The most outstanding date | 
| The flag is going to wave | 
| Luisa has no home | 
| the military parade | 
| And if Luisa goes to the park | 
| Where is she going to return? | 
| Cueca sad national | 
| I am the chillaneja | 
| gentlemen to sing | 
| If I raise my cry | 
| It's not just for yelling | 
| pardon the auditorium | 
| If you offend my charity | 
| Long military cueca |