I was born in a good class family,
A 'Nani' and a preceptor were waiting for him,
He got up, his mother hugged him,
his father looked at the fingers of his hands and feet,
its attributes and its skin tone
and a hole in the chin
in a calf a mole.
I was nailed to him, I was nailed to him.
you have to find a name that sounds good,
It will be called; Iigo Luis, Cayetano Manuel,
borja gonzaga, luis felipe, rodrigo jose,
victor alfonso, jacobo daniel, carlos enrique,
gaston, jose alberto, miguel,
will be called like me, andres
They programmed his life without counting without him,
They sent him to London and New York.
I stand upright, manhatan catches him.
What times!, listening to music from rolling stones,
being part of a revolution
singing hare krishna,
living love every night,
always remembering the ones I leave here.
a winter afternoon without waiting for it appeared,
it was his father with the face of a dog,
an energumeno with a brown hat and suit:
'take your things we miss the flight,
I have a job that you may like,
It's an opportunity, Andres.
it's the story of a 'master' that never was,
is the story of a dream that ended
with music from seven and a half to ten on radio
'Today we will talk about rolling stones,
from michael jackson and his world tour,
of the video of madonna and the last work of prince.
all this and much more in the corner of andres'.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)