Lyrics and Translations of songs from "HEROES & HORSES: Corridos from the Arizona-Sonora Borderlands"

Brave Nogalians
did their duty:
they fought the gringos
until death or victory.
On the twenty-seventh of August,
at about four o'clock,
rifle shots
were heard on the border.
When a Mexican crossed
the border line,
a gringo fired a shot at him:
that was the beginning of the story.
Fulfilling his duty,
Peñalosa ran right away,
to the border
to see if the firing had died down.
But as soon as they saw him,
he was shot by the gringos,
and he died instantly,
and there he remained abandoned.
All the people together
went to see the commander,
asking him for ammunition and arms
so they could defend themselves.
There were fifteen hundred gringos.
All were federal troops,
and that town of Nogales
did not let them advance.
There were many Mexicans,
traitors to excess;
they shot at their fatherland
in that day's combat.
Only in Nogales, Sonora,
were we all united,
the women between shots
gathering in the wounded.
That Black soldiery,
abusing their power,
even shot up the Red Cross,
which fulfilled its duty.
The American bullets
wounded two women,
and they said, "Don't worry,
we're true Mexicans."
Only the gringo soldiers
we didn't see again;
they sent nothing but Blacks
and hid themselves.
The governor,
who arrived later in Nogales,
had some meetings
between the two generals.
Later the Mexican commander
began to meet
with the American leader,
who wanted to parley.
Every vile Mexican
who tramples on his flag
is the slave of the gringos
and traitor to the nation.
He who dies for his Fatherland
dies with glory and honor,
and the tricolor banner
will accompany him to his grave.
The man who composed this corrido
sings it for fifty cents,
and he especially made it
for the heroes of Nogales.

On the seventeenth of March,
to the city of Agua Prieta
people came from all over;
they came to the races
between Relámpago and El Moro,
two first-class horses.
Pedro Frisby's Moro
was from the town of Cumpas,
very good-looking and very fast.
El Relámpago was a chestnut;
he was the favorite horse
of his owner, Rafael Romero.
When they exercised El Moro,
he looked so handsome
that people started to bet.
Everyone kept saying
that that horse came
especially to win.
Checks, bills, and coins
were placed on the horse from Cumpas
on Sunday morning.
By afternoon, the bets
exceeded a hundred thousand pesos
in that Copacabana.
The betting was taken advantage of
by ranchers and cattlemen,
workers and peasants,
bartenders and waiters,
friends and visitors
from neighboring towns.
Frank and Jesús Valenzuela
put fifteen thousand pesos
on Romero's chestnut.
Puyo Morales said,
"It seems to me that with El Moro
they're going to win all our money."
Trini Ramírez and also
Chendo Valenzuela walked along
excercising the horses:
two surcingle-style racers,
two seekers after triumph,
the two were real fighting cocks.
At last they started the race,
and El Moro started off ahead
intending to win.
Ramírez quirted the chestnut
and halfway down the track
he left the Moro behind.
Leonardo Yáñez, "El Nano,"
composer of this corrido,
begs pardon of everyone.
There is no doubt that
the chestnut from Agua Prieta won,
and El Moro from Cumpas lost.

I'll give an account
of what has happened to me-
how they took me prisoner,
being such a tough guy.
(The second phrase of the couplet is repeated in each verse)
I went to Agua Prieta
to see who knew me.
At eleven o'clock at night
the police grabbed me.
The gendarms arrested me
in the American style,
as though I were a criminal,
all with pistols in their hands.
They sent me to Cananea,
crossing the mountains.
I couldn't trick them
because I didn't know the country.
On arriving in Cananea,
there I lost hope,
because there I was consigned
to a primary-hearing judge.
Next day in the morning,
they shaved my head,
because the administrator of the board
was going to visit me.
They took out a letter
from the Congress House,
where a judge asks me,
"Do you know why you're a prisoner?"
I answered him very seriously,
getting very formal:
"You don't have to build me a temple,
or a crystal palace."
The Cananea jail
was built on a mesa,
and in it I was indicted
because of my stupidity.
Of three friends that I have,
no one wants to talk to me,
beginning with Ape,
Little Lion, and Crocodile.
I won't give a farewell
because I don't have it here.
I left it with the Holy Child
and the Lord of Mapimí.
And with that I bid farewell
by the leaves of a pomegranite;
here ends the story
of such a tough guy.

On the twelfth of October
of the year sixty-nine,
we didn't see anyone playing cards,
not even shooting dice.
What we saw was a horse race,
a big race, to be sure;
they ran in Tubutama
La Tolota and El Ruperto.
The mare had already beaten
Ruperto, and all in order
but Cotoy and Treviño
were not in agreement.
The deal they had signed,
which served as guarantee
for several thousand pesos,
they stipulated it very clearly.
When Ruperto entered the track
calmly and without noise,
someone shouted all of a sudden,
"I'll give a thousand against seven hundred."
Afterwards Tolota entered,
blooming like a lady
to enliven with her bearing
the people of Tubutama.
At four in the afternoon,
they were at the starting gate,
but Ruperto, frightened,
gave signs of fear.
Reyes Ortiz, disgusted,
says to López Ramírez:
"There are people at the starting gate,
and it's fair that you send them away."
Treviño and López Ramírez
attend to the requests:
they fly to the starting gate,
and give new instructions.
Until six in the afternoon
Rupert took up his position.
The signal to start is given,
and the hoseshoes dig in.
Ruperto's jockey
rode on very worried,
because after the midpoint
she [La Tolota] was really gaining on him.
Fly, dove, and tell them,
but tell it truly;
say that La Tolota beat
Ruperto yet again.

This corrido, good people,
that I carry from La Sangre
composed by my guitar
to ease my worries:
It'll tell you the new history
of what's happened in Magdalena.
On the twentieth of May
of the year fifty-six,
once again there was a race,
and by luck came out safely
the famous palomino
with a white-footed horse.
That white-footed horse,
which had as his name El Gancho,
and he wasn't playing his luck.
Well, his owner wanted it that way.
Yes, good people, he is native
to the area around El Carrizo.
At ten in the morning,
the race horses went out
to the match of the palomino.
Their brows were covered with sweat
because Gancho's fans shouted,
"Today, a hundred pesos to twenty."
But first I must tell you
what the palomino said:
"Now I am really scared.
I'm scared of being beaten
because some in my party
have bet against me."
But everything came out well.
Perhaps luck was on his side,
because he won by a good margin,
giving him the whip once or twice,
and because everything came down,
innocent ones and coyotes.
The palomino won
decidedly over the white-footer.
Chatting thus, he told him,
"Farewell, Gancho, faithful friend.
May Gutiérrez take you,
and I'm going with Michel."

Let's sing a corrido,
a corrido from Sonora;
let's remember the little town,
the municipality of Oquitoa.
It is located in the northwest,
between Altar and Átil;
if you're thinking of visiting it,
You'll make friends very easily.
In this ancient little town,
the people are noble and loyal,
thus offering to the visitor
confidence and well-being.
We'll see that the women
have their style and grace;
that's why they are beautiful females
Who aren't short on stateliness.
I tell the emigrants
living there is a pleasure;
don't forget the land
in which you were born.
Know that this corrido
was born from my heart;
I am proof of what I say,
and besides, I am right.
Every year they celebrate
the Paduan, San Antonio,
on the thirteenth of June,
the day of the patron saint.
In this fiesta there is dancing,
in this fiesta there is singing,
in this fiesta rejoice
even the saddest souls.
Well, long live Oquitoa;
shout with all your heart;
and may its fiestas never die,
because they are traditional.

General Santa Cruz,
when he arrived at Sasabe-
in guard house number six
he arrested Chico Prieto.
They took him to the customs house.
He met with Chico García,
and they took away their guns,
the horses with saddles and all.
Chico Prieto and Valenzuela
were frightened all of a sudden.
On the hill of San Joaquín
they went to catch up with them.
We were all moving slowly;
nobody wanted to run,
because General Santa Cruz
we wanted to meet.
One of the guards
was undoubtedly very brave;
he was the one that got
Tío Chente's blankets.
And Mendoza said to them
"They almost left me blind.
It's a lie; don't pay attention to him:
the bullets didn't even come near him.
Fly, fly, little dove;
alight on that cross.
This is the morning song
of General Santa Cruz.

In that town of Guaymas
in the state of Sonora,
two brave men killed each other
over a traitoress.
Rafaelita the traitoress,
who loved two men:
one was Cecilio Herrera,
and the other Reyes García.
They entered a cantina,
they bought fine liquors,
and they began to warble
like good singers.
Cecilio said to Reyes,
"Sing me a prettier song,
because I am remembering
my sweetheart Rafaelita."
And Reyes answered him,
"That doesn't seem right to me:
mentioning Rafaelita to me
makes my soul swell up."
They grabbed each other;
they challenged each other to a duel
and went out to fight
on the other side of the river.
Cecilio carried an automatic;
Reyes, a thirty-two.
The bullets pierced
both their hearts.
Cecilio fell backward
with his blood welling up,
saying to his rival,
"Here end all passions."
The head marshall
fulfilling his duty:
they hadn't walked ten paces
before Reyes fell down too.
Be careful, young men,
I'll tell you from here on:
don't kill each other
over a traitoress.
Good-time companions,
I'll tell you right now:
don't kill each other
over a pretty woman.
Here I sit down to sing
beside a poppy,
and here cease being sung
the verses of Rafaelita.

It was surely on a Sunday
when it all happened:
the young man José Lizardo
struck his mother.
Very furious, his mother
laid a curse on him
at the foot of a crucifix,
at which even the earth trembled:
"I hope in God, my son,
in God and in all the saints,
that you will fall in the mine
and break into two thousand pieces."
On Monday morning,
he went to the mine,
and he said to the foreman,
"I don't want to go down."
The foreman told him,
"If you don't want to work,
go and look for a friend
who can take your place."
And later José went
to look for a substitute.
His friends refused him;
nobody wanted to work.
Then José returned
very sad and disconsolate,
thinking about the curse
that his mother had put on him.
"Dear mother of my life,
mother of my heart,
I'm the child of your womb;
lift your curse."
When he stepped down on the first rung,
the ladder gave way.
May Jesus Christ accompany you
on the cross on which He died.
"The Fox" (since he was the lightest)
lit his lamp
and told the foreman
"A companion of ours has been killed."
A stain of hail fell;
a stain of coffee fell:
a reminder to my friends
I've left for everyone.
A stain of coffee fell;
a stain of hail fell:
the young man José Lizardo
Was broken into two thousand pieces.
His mother when she found out
lifted her eyes to heaven:
"May Jesus Christ accompany you
on the cross on which He died."
They put him in the coffin;
they take him to be buried,
and his mother sees him
and repeats her curse.
They gathered his brains
in the crown of a hat;
that was enough
to soften hearts of steel.
These verses are composed
by a man from Tucson.
Who knows if you know him?
His name is Lorenzo León.

Engine five hundred one,
the one that went through Sonora:
that's why the brakemen
who don't sigh are crying.
It was a Sunday, good people,
about three in the afternoon:
Jesús García found himself
caressing his mother.
Jesús García told her:
"Mother, I must leave;
I can hear the train's whistle;
my fate approaches."
When he arrived at the station,
the train was already whistling,
and a car full of dynamite
was burning.
The firemen tells him,
"Jesús, let's get off.
Look, the car back there
it's coming up on fire."
He turned his steam engine around,
since it was headed uphill,
and before arriving at Number Six,
there his life ended.
Since that unforgettable day,
you have earned your cross;
you have won your [martyr's] palms:
you are the hero, Jesús,
Engine five hundred one,
the one that went through Sonora:
that's why the brakemen
who don't sigh are crying.

Good people, I am a Mexican,
but I understand English.
I learned it with my brother
forward and backward.
I can make any American
tremble at my feet.
When I was but a child,
I was left an orphan.
Nobody showed me any love.
They killed my brother,
And my wife, Carmelita,
cowards killed her.
I came from Hermosillo
in search of gold and riches.
The noble and simple Indian
I defended ferociously.
The sheriffs were paying
a good price for my head.
I am that one who dominates
even African lions.
That is why I go out on the road
to kill Americans.
Now my destiny is no other.
Take care, neighbors!
Murrieta said there was
one thing he had to accomplish:
"I seek vengeance for my wife.
I'll repeat it again:
Carmelita so beautiful-
how they made her suffer!"
I have moved through the bars
punishing Americans.
Were you that general,
the one that killed my brother?
You took him defenseless,
haughty American.
I am no foreign Chilean
in this land that I roam.
California belongs to Mexico,
because God wanted it that way.
In my serape flung over my chest
I carry the faith of my baptism.
Let us now withdraw:
let us all go to the barracks
with a sufficient horse herd,
a hundred thousand paper pesos.
Take care of Three-Finger Jack;
he is my faithful companion.
Pretty is the town of Stockton,
with its streets all in a row,
where Murrieta rode
on his silver-mounted saddle
with his pistol loaded
and the people all excited.
I rode all of California
in the year 1850,
with my silver-mounted saddle,
and my pistol loaded:
I am that Mexican,
my name is Joaquín Murrieta

One seventeenth of June
they ran a race,
and Theodore's roan,
Vega's palomino.
And they put together the event
where the land was flattest.
Now you will see, my sparring partner,
on Sunday morning.
Dear mother of my life,
I owe it to the palomino,
and bet a lot on him (?)
to get him on the road for me.
Palomino, where were you trained?
"I was trained in La Angostura,
and that's why you're so disposed
to kill so many young ones.
The Palomino lost
because he fell asleep
and can't have it both ways-
winning and staying conceited.
One seventeenth of June
they ran a race,
with Theodore's roan,
and Vega's palomino.

In the name of God
I'm going to the mine,
to (unclear)
and also my poplin shirt,
To prepare my many drills.
and also my leather vest.
I'll go down to level 18
to prove I'm brave,
well, more than four miners:
here's where they gave up.
Soften up, hard rock;
soften up, little girl,
for I'm going to drill you
with blasting powder and dynamite.
Soften up, hard rock;
don't be so cruel,
for I'm going to drill you
six days out of the week.
When I work straight ahead,
my waist doesn't hurt,
and the drill goes faster:
let the drill spin and spin.
When I work bending over
my waist doesn't hurt,
and they gaze at me,
with the drill grinding.
Soften up, hard rock;
don't be so cruel,
for I'm going to drill you
six days out of the week.
In the name of God
now I'm going to the mine,
to (unclear)
and also my poplin shirt.

The eleventh of the month of September
there arrived in a train from Tucson
to the city of Nogales
General Obregón.
(The last two lines of each stanza are repeated)
Manzo and Bay received him
when he arrived at the station.
He told them he was headed south,
General Obregón.
Manzo, as he was his friend,
the head of the armed forces,
came with Obregón
and accompanied him to Guaymas.
In Guaymas they had a ship for him.
Obregón didn't want to get on board,
because he knew that the Indians
wanted to attack the train.
As soon as they spotted the train,
the Indians made a mistake:
they believed that Rivera was coming
and they opened fire on Obregón.
He later was presented with
a commission of Yaquis
inviting General Obregón
to a conference.
Obregón answered them:
"Well, this is the simplest thing;
I'll order them to give you
a special train to Hermosillo.
Here the Indians traded sides
with Obregón very well;
here they had the tables
turned on them.
(This literally means "here their whip was grabbed by the handle [and used on them.]")
Here I end the corrido
that has caused a sensation-
the fiasco that the Indians
had with Obregón.

In the year of seventy-eight,
as the carnival approached,
the Seris grabbed us
there in the middle of the channel.
Rosario Aguirre was going along
in the company of Manuel
when the Seris told us,
"We are going to detain you."
And Chino was asleep;
he didn't want to wake up,
and he says to the soldiers,
"Stop bothering me."
We arrive at Punta Chueca,
along about late afternoon.
There the Seris tell us,
"We are going to detain you."
They ordered to bring Gastelum.
He didn't want to risk it:
he sent the order from Hermosillo
and was going to begin.
Chinicuila was going,
and he said to Pelón,
"Let's go to Kino Viejo
to tell the boss."
Alfredo Topete was
getting very worried:
"Let's go to Kino Viejo;
I'll give you a ride."
We got to Kino Viejo;
they gave us a ride,
and there at the ice plant
was the inauguration.
Gutiérrez Rico was going,
with all his party:
"Let's go to Punta Chueca
even though they charge a million."
Fly, fly, little seagull;
alight on that mangrove tree:
fishermen, I tell you
don't go into the channel.

8

I ask permission, good people,
to sing a corrido,
for in this month of February,
look what has happened:
two companions have drowned.
How sad was their fate!
José El Guacho told them
when he was going out with the tide,
"Be careful, boys,
that boat is broken."
But his heart now seems
That it was having a premonition.
It seems like he foresaw
what was going to happen to them,
but they didn't pay him attention;
they went off sailing.
They went to place their nets
at Alcatraz Island.
The joker answers him
with his cap cocked:
"Don't be scared, Miguel;
the tidal current isn't strong.
We'll go out to set (them);
we'll return tomorrow."
Many days then went by,
and Doña Chuy, worried
about her son-in-law and Miguel,
for whom she had no sympathy,
went to the captain
to see what he would tell them.
The captain answers her,
very sad and worried:
"Ma'am, we've already looked
for these lost boys.
I think that right now
they are trembling from the cold."
A week after they left,
one of them appeared,
in front of the port
near Carlos Prieto.
If someone hadn't found him
the dogs would have finished him.
Fly, fly, little seagull;
fly towards the estuary.
In that month of February,
two companions were drowned.
May we all remember them;
may God keep them in heaven.