Joan Manuel Serrat — La Aristocracia del Barrio song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "La Aristocracia del Barrio" by Joan Manuel Serrat.
Lyrics
Entre el bar y la bolera, rondan por la acera, salpicando betún y brillantina
En el índice una alhaja, el pelo a navaja, controlando al barrio desde una
esquina.
Óyeles silbar… parecen estar esperándote vecino, para jugar un mano a mano a los chinos. Son la aristocracia del barrio. Lo mejor de cada casa,
tomando el sol en la plaza.
Tienen a su madre anciana, virgen a la hermana y en las Ramblas a una que es del asunto. Un padre que murió un día y la filosofía del tapete,
el compañero y el punto.
Mírenlo jugar… sin pestañear… Nació chulo y sin remedio. Pide con seis y se planta en dos y medio.
Son la aristocracia del barrio. Tahúres, supersticiosos, charlatanes y orgullosos.
Trafican en transistores, en encendedores, en cosméticos y en bisutería
hasta que el cante de un socio les cierre el negocio como poco por seis meses y un día. Igual que se van reaparecerán, hechos un figurín pero, con el color y el perfume del talego.
Son la aristocracia del barrio. Tránsfugas independientes mejorando a los
presentes.
Si les sigue usted los pasos verá más de un caso que en la puerta de un Juzgado
de Guardia, que por la hembra y el retaco deja hasta el tabaco y hurga en las
demandas de La Vanguardia.
Envejecerán horneando pan. Cada quien muere a su modo. Y qué se va a hacer ha de haber gente pa' todo.
Y la aristocracia del barrio, sentimentales y buenos, en el bar…
le echan de menos.
Lyrics translation
Between the bar and the bowling alley, they roam the sidewalk, splashing bitumen and glitter
In the index a jewel, the hair a razor, controlling the neighborhood from a
corner.
Listen to them whistle ... they seem to be waiting for you neighbor, to play a hand-to-hand to the Chinese. They're the aristocracy of the neighborhood. The best of every home,
sunbathing in the square.
They have their old mother, Virgin sister and in Las Ramblas one who is the subject. A father who died one day and the philosophy of the carpet,
the partner and the point.
Watch him play ... without blinking ... he was born pimp and hopeless. He asks for six and he plants in two and a half.
They're the aristocracy of the neighborhood. Tahurians, superstitious, charlatans and proud.
They trade in transistors, lighters, cosmetics and jewellery
until a partner's singing closes the business for at least six months and a day. Just as they will reappear, made a figurine but, with the color and perfume of the talego.
They're the aristocracy of the neighborhood. Independent transfers improving the
present.
If you follow in their footsteps you will see more than one case at the door of a court
on guard, that by the female and the altarpiece leaves up the tobacco and hurries in the
demands of the Vanguard.
They'll grow old baking bread. Everyone dies in their own way. And what is going to be done there must be people for everything.
And the aristocracy of the neighborhood, sentimental and good, at the bar…
they miss him.