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The old river that goes
Crossing the dawn
Like a large camalotal
He carries the raft in its crazy swing
On the way to the harvest, I will be a harvester
And, among white flakes, I will sing my hope
With weathered hands, I will leave my heart in the cotton
The land of Chaco, quebrachera and wild
He will ignite my blood with a hoarse sapucay
And he will be the furrow, my hat under the sun, beacon of light
I come from Corrientes
Barranquera is already visible
And on the coast an accordion
Moaning goes his slow chamamé
On the way to the harvest, I will be a harvester
And, among white flakes, I will sing my hope
With weathered hands, I will leave my heart in the cotton
The land of Chaco, quebrachera and wild
He will ignite my blood with a hoarse sapucay
And he will be the furrow, my hat under the sun, beacon of light
Cotton that goes away, that goes away, that goes away
Soft silver, wet with moon and sweat
I want a drunken little ranch, full of dreams and love.
Cotton that goes away, that goes away, that goes away
Soft silver, wet with moon and sweat
I want a drunken little ranch, full of dreams and love.
I want
I want
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