José Larralde — Grito Changa song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Grito Changa" by José Larralde.
Lyrics
Me ofrecieron conchabo
Para ir tirando, para ir tirando
El trabajo anda escaso
La paga estrecha
Y el lomo es ancho
Porque tengo a mis hijos
Que a puro brazo los estoy criando
Me priendo a cualquier cosa
El hambre es mucho y el pan escaso
Clavo el hacha en el árbol
Saco los yuyos, armo el andamio
No tengo oficio fijo
De muy chiquito, viví cinchando
Hoy no tengo derecho
Ni pa embromarme dentro el salario
El patrón ya me dijo
Que si me enfermo no se hace cargo
¡La pucha! Que valgo poco
Si no me alcanza ni pa cigarro
Y el hueso que llevo a casa
Dentro del pecho me está golpeando
Si me agarra la rabia
Y pego el grito, me estoy pensando
Que mis pobres cachorros
No tienen culpa pa darles cargo
Que venga el sabio y diga
Si mi trabajo no vale de algo
Que el sabio me conteste
Si pa tranquiarla no soy un galgo
Si el sabe todo eso
Sabe de sobra que es poco el pago
Por saber tantas cosas
Hacen que el pobre reviente de asco
¡La pucha! Que valgo poco
Si no me alcanza ni pa cigarro
Y el hueso que llevo a casa
Dentro del pecho me está golpeando
Si me agarra la rabia
Y pego el grito, me estoy pensando
Que mis pobres cachorros
No tienen culpa pa darles cargo
Lyrics translation
I was offered conchabo
To go pulling, to go pulling
Work is scarce
Narrow pay
And the loin is wide
Because I have my children
That I am raising them with my bare arm
I pray to anything
Hunger is much and bread is scarce
Nail the ax on the tree
I take out the yuyos, I arm the scaffold
I have no fixed profession
When I was a little boy, I lived on a cinch.
Today I have no right
I can't even fool myself into my salary.
The boss already told me
That if I get sick, he won't take care of it.
La pucha! That I'm not worth much
If I can't even get a cigar
And the bone I take home
Inside my chest is hitting me
If I get rabies
And I hit the scream, I'm thinking
That my poor puppies
It is not their fault to charge them
Let the wise come and say
If my work isn't worth anything
May the wise answer me
If pa tranquiarla I'm not a Greyhound
If he knows all that
He knows enough that the payment is low
For knowing so many things
They make the poor, disgusting bust
La pucha! That I'm not worth much
If I can't even get a cigar
And the bone I take home
Inside my chest is hitting me
If I get rabies
And I hit the scream, I'm thinking
That my poor puppies
It is not their fault to charge them