Russia is waging a disgraceful war on Ukraine.     우크라이나와 함께하세요!
공유하다
글꼴 크기
원래 가사
Swap languages

Junto a mi fusil mi son

[a coro:]
No, no, no se rinde nadie, en esta tierra no se rinde nadie.
No, no, no se rinde nadie en esta tierra, no señor.
 
Mariposa flor sin paz, mujer que sencilla y sol,
vas sembrando comprensión para exigir tu lugar.
Es duro tu batallar, pues la mente no es manuable.
Pero cuando el viento arde, amenazando tu tribu:
 
Miliciano es el abrigo. De amor, con que curas todo.
Miliciano son tus ojos, tu espejo, tu tocador.
Eres mariposa flor, disparando el enemigo.
Eres mariposa flor, compañera, disparando el enemigo.
¡Así se dice, mi son!
 
[coro]
 
Palomas, sobre la frente las manos del escolar,
saludan el despertar de una estrella que se mece.
Risa ingenua que enardece la rabia del poderoso,
dedo nuclear impetuoso, amenazando la historia.
 
Miliciana es la victoria, de cada curso escolar,
la libreta, el manual, maestro sin pizarrón.
El niño que es un cañón, con pañoleta y cantar.
El niño que es un cañón, sí señor. con pañoleta y cantar.
¡Así se dice, mi son!
 
[coro]
 
No hay mal que esconda sus peces, el trigo es pan en la aurora.
No hay hambre que no suplique si hay fragua trabajadora.
Odio irracional y cruel, odio de las tempestades,
para comer libertades, me tienes que fenecer.
 
Pero muerte puede ser, miliciana. Miliciana no te asombres,
porque en esta tierra de hombres, hasta la muerte comprende
que la vida se le pierde, compai (compadre), si te permite de
vencer,
que la vida se le pierde, oigalo bien, si te permite de vencer.
¡Así se dice, mi son!
 
[coro]
 
Cantando van pa'l machete que surca el aire de veloz,
para derramar la flor, este tiempo que nos crece.
Pero, si el viento enfurece y pretende sin razón,
tragarse el pan y el amor que con el sudor se crece:
 
Miliciano es el machete, la caña y el colibrí,
el guajiro, que mambi, defiende su tiempo vivo.
Que lo sepa el enemigo: el miedo no come aquí.
Que lo sepa el enemigo, sí señor, ¡el miedo no come aquí!
 
[coro y al mismo tiempo:]
volverá mi son ...
lo más especial es mi son ...
no se debe vigilar mi son ...
...
 
번역

My son rhythm goes right with my rifle

[chorus:]
No, no, no, no one gives up in this land, no one gives up
No, no, no, no one gives up in this land, no sir
 
Butterfly jasmine like no other, woman who is humility and sunlight
You go sowing seeds of understanding to demand your place
Your battle is hard, because the mind is not malleable
But when the wind burns, threatening your tribe:
 
The militiaman is your loving shelter, which you use to heal all
The militiaman is your eyes, your mirror, your box of jewels
You are the butterfly jasmine, firing at the enemy
You are the butterfly jasmine, the companion, firing at the enemy
This is how my son rhythm goes!
 
[chorus]
 
The doves all overhead--the hands of the schoolchild
Greet the awakening of a star that sways itself
An ingenuous laugh that inflames the powerful one's rage
Whose impetuous nuclear trigger finger is threatening history
 
The militiawoman is victory, in every school grade
The notebook, the manual labor, the teacher with no chalkboard
The boy who is a spotlight, with a kerchief and song
The boy who is a cannon, yes sir, with kerchief and song
This is how my son rhythm goes!
 
[chorus]
 
There is no sea that hides its fish; wheat becomes bread in the daybreak
There is no hunger that won't give in, if there's a hardworking forge aflame
Irrational and cruel hatred, hatred like a storm
To eat up all our freedoms, you'll have to succumb to me
 
But death may be what comes, militiawoman. Militiawoman, don't let it catch you by surprise,
Because in this land of men, even death herself understands
That she loses her life, my companion, if she allows you to win
That she loses her life, hear me, if she allows you to win
This is how my son rhythm goes!
 
[chorus]
 
They go singing behind their machetes that swiftly plow through the air
To destroy the flower this growing season
But, if the wind becomes furious and intends without cause,
To swallow whole the bread and love that bakes with the sweat of our labor
 
The militiaman is the machete, the sugarcane and the hummingbird
The guajiro man, who as a mambí fighter defends his time on earth
May the enemy know: Fear does not feast on us
May the enemy know, yes sir: Fear does not feast on us
 
[chorus and simulaneously:]
My son rhythm will return...
What's most special is my son rhythm...
You may not guard my son rhythm...
(More improvisation)
 
Omara Portuondo: 상위 3
Idioms from "Junto a mi fusil mi ..."
코멘트