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Other Singers

En el amor, yo solo se, que a mas de un gil deje de a pie!

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En el amor, yo solo se, que a mas de un gil deje de a pie!

Postby Lankin » Tue Jun 12, 2012 10:22 am

I think I will burn a CD next time I see PJ, with only one song:


(I chose the subtitled version, the song is about at 1 min.)

I don't know if he knows it, but to know that he does would make me happy.

So, in response to all the people complaining about alleged lack of shape, his features, his voice, ... -- but still, mysteriously, they are sticking around! -- he could just smile, grit his teeth, and maybe think, "Se dicen muchas cosas, mas si el bulto no interesa, porque pierden la cabeza ocupándose de mí", or even "mas la fealdad que dios me diò, mucha mujer me la envidiò."


Tita Merello, Se Dice De Mì


(I added a translation underneath I found on the web.)

Se dice de mi,
Se dice de mi,
Se dice que soy fiera,
que camino a lo malevo,
que soy chueca y que me muevo
con un aire compadrón,
que parezco Leguisamo,
mi nariz es puntiaguda,
la figura no me ayuda
y mi boca es un buzón.

Si charlo con Luis, con Pedro o con Juan,
hablando de mi los hombres están.
Critican si ya, la línea perdí,
se fijan si voy, si vengo o si fui.
Se dicen muchas cosas,
mas si el bulto no interesa,
porque pierden la cabeza
ocupándose de mi.

Yo se que muchos que desprecian con mentiras
y suspiran y se mueren cuando piensan en mi amor.
Y mas de uno se derrite si suspiro
y se quedan si los miro resoplando como un Ford.
Si fea soy,
pongámosle,
que de eso aun no me entere,
en el amor, yo solo se,
que a mas de un gil, deje de a pie.

Podrán decir, podrán hablar,
y murmurar, y rebuznar,
mas la fealdad que dios me dio,
mucha mujer me la envidio
y no dirán que me engrupi
porque modesta siempre fui.
Yo soy así

Y ocultan de mi,
ocultan que yo tengo,
unos ojos sonadores,
además otros primores
que producen sensación.
Si soy fiera se que en cambio,
tengo un cutis de muñeca,
los que dicen que soy chueca,
no me han visto en camisón.

Los hombres de mi critican la voz,
el modo de andar, la pinta, ehe!, la tos.
Critican si ya la línea perdí,
se fijan si voy, si vengo, o si fui.
Se dicen muchas cosas,
mas si el bulto no interesa,
porque pierden la cabeza
ocupándose de mi.

Yo se que hay muchos me desprecian compañía,
y suspiran y se mueren cuando piensan en mi amor.
Y mas de uno se derrite si suspiro
y se quedan si los miro resoplando como un gol.

Si fea soy,
pongámosle,
que de eso aun no me entere,
en el amor, yo solo se,
que a mas de un gil, deje de a pie.

Podrán decir, podrán hablar,
y murmurar, y rebuznar,
mas la fealdad que dios me diò,
mucha mujer me la envidiò,
y no dirán que me engrupi
porque modesta siempre fui.
Yo soy así

*

It’s said about me

It's said about me,
It’s said about me,
Its’ said that I’m ugly,
that I walk like a quarrelsome person,
that I’m bowlegged and that I move
with a conceited attitude,
that I look like (jockey Ireneo) Leguisamo,
my nose is pointy,
the silhouette doesn’t help
and my mouth is like a mail box.

If I chat with Luis, with Pedro or with Juan,
the men are talking about me.
They criticize if I already my waistline is gone,
they check if I go, if I come or if I left.
Many things are said
but the shape doesn’t matter,
because they lose their head
concerning themselves about me.

I know that many snub with lies
and sigh for me and die when they think of my love.
And more than one melts if I sigh
and if I look at them, they’re puffing like a Ford.

If I’m ugly,
let’s say it’s so,
though I’m not aware of that,
when it comes to love, all I know,
that I left stranded more than one fool.

They might say, they might talk,
and gossip and bray,
but the ugliness that God gave me
many women envied it
and they won’t say that I deceived myself
because I always was modest.
I am this way.

And they hush about me,
they hide that I have,
some dreamy eyes
besides other charms
that produce sensation.

If I’m ugly, I know that instead,
I have the skin of a doll,
those who say I’m bowlegged,
have not seen me in a nightgown.
The men criticize my voice,
the way I move, the appearance, ahem, the cough.

They criticize if I already my waistline is gone,
they check if I go, if I come or if I left.
Many things are said
but the shape doesn’t matter,
because they lose their head
concerning themselves about me.

I know that many snub the company I keep
and sigh for me and die when they think of my love.
And more than one melts if I sigh
and if I look at them, they gasp like they score a goal.

If I’m ugly,
let’s say it’s so,
though I’m not aware of that,
when it comes to love, all I know,
that I left stranded more than one fool.

They might say, they might talk,
and gossip and bray,
but the ugliness that God gave me
many women envied it
and they won’t say that I deceived myself
because I always was modest.
I am this way
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