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My uncle was the cousin
From a friend of my grandfather
That he was an American Indian and
That he had fallen in love
From a Tico patuá
Who was born on a schooner
Overcrowded with slaves
That they stole from Jamaica
There is no future in the pure
Purity is in the mix
In the mixture of the pure
That before being pure was a mixture
My uncle's mother
She married a gypsy
Who played the guitar
With your fingers in your hand
And he accompanied a payo
Who sang bulerías
With a black man from Chicago
Who claimed to be his brother
There is no future in the pure
Purity is in the mix
In the mixture of the pure
That before being pure was a mixture
They say that my grandfather
He was a banana blonde
That came to Cuba from Spain
To stay in Havana
Going to Santiago
He met a mulatto woman
Mixture of tobacco and cane
That in French he spoke to him
Sirs
There is no future in the pure
Sirs
Purity is in the mix
Sirs
In the mixture of the pure
Sirs
That before being pure was a mixture
Sirs
There is no future in the pure
Sirs
Purity is in the mix
Sirs
In the mixture of the pure
Sirs
That before being pure was a mixture
Sirs
There is no future in the pure
Sirs
Purity is in the mix
Sirs
In the mixture of the pure
Sirs
That before being pure was a mixture
Sirs
Sirs
Sirs
Sirs
Sirs
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