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Home / Oral Histories / Poems and Songs / Barrio Viejo words and music by Lalo Guerrero

Barrio Viejo letra y musica de Lalo Guerrero

Viejo barrio, barrio viejo
Viejo barrio, barrio viejo
Solo hay lugares parejos
donde un dia hubo casas,
donde vivio nuestro raza.
Solo quedan los escombros
de los hogares felices,
de las alegras familias
de esa gente que yo quise.

Por las tardes se sentaban
afuera a tomar el fresco.
Yo pasaba y saludaba,
ya parece que oigo el eco.
-Como esta Dona Juanita?-
-Buenas tardes, Isabel. -
Hola! Que dices, Chalita?
Como esta Arturo y Manuel?

Viejo barrio, barrio viejo
Que en mi infancia te goze
y con todos mis amigos,
iba descalzo y a pie.
De la Meyer hasta El Hoyo,
Desde El Hoyo hasta la acequia,
de la acequia hasta el rio,
ese era el mundo mio.

Dicen que eramos pobres,
pues yo nunca lo note.
Yo era feliz en mi mundo,
de aquel barrio que adore.

Bonitas las serenatas
a las tres de la manana,
que le cantaba a mi chata,
pegadito a su ventana.

Por la calle del convento,
una casa destruida,
quedo como monumento,
al gran amor de mi vida.

Pobrecito viejo barrio,
como te debe doler,
cuando en nombre del progreso,
derrumban otra pared.

Viejo barrio, barrio viejo,
Yo tambien ya envejeci,
y cuando uno se hace viejo,
nadie se acuerda de ti.

Vamonos muriendo juntos,
ques me entierren en tu suelo,
y seramos dos difuntos,
rodeados de mil recuerdos.

Viejo barrio, old neighborhood,
There's only leveled spaces
where once there were houses,
where once people lived.
There are only ruins
of the happy homes
of the joyous families,
of these folks that I loved. 

In the evening they would sit outside
to enjoy the coolness of the night.
I would pass by and say hello,
I can almost hear the echo.
How is Dona Juanita?
Good evening, Isabel!
Hi! What do you say, Chalita?
How is Arturo and Manuel?

Viejo barrio, old neighborhood
that I enjoyed in my youth,
and with all my friends,
shoeless and a-foot we traveled
from Meyer Street to El Hoyo
to the irrigation ditch.
From the ditch to the river
that world was mine

They say we are poor,
but I never noticed that.
I was happy in my world
in that neighborhood I loved.

Beautiful were the serenades
at three o'clock in the morning
that I used to sing to my love,
right close up to her window.

Along the street of the convent,
there's a destroyed house
left like a monument
to the great love of my life.

Poor old neighborhood,
how it must hurt,
when in the name of progress,
another wall is torn down.

Viejo barrio, old neighborhood,
I too have gotten old.
And when one gets old,
no one remembers you.

Let us die together.
Let them bury me in your soil
and we'll be two corpses
surrounded by a thousand memories.


 

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