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Hello my beautiful family from the beehive, today I honestly return to myself with the best music in the world, not only because of the beauty of its lyrics, which is honestly very romantic, beautiful and very difficult to interpret, this song is from " Reinaldo Armas "who has not heard this contagious song from my land entitled" Indio Me Dice La Gente "is definitely not Venezuelan, I hope you enjoy this humble and beautiful interpretation.
Indio me dice la gente
y para mi es un honor
soy además soy complaciente, popular y jugetón.
Me gusta vivir mi vida de acuerdo a la situación
no tolero la injusticia porque me causa dolor
debe ser porque en el cuerpo solo tengo corazón.
Llevo sangre del cacique
aquel que no doblego
aquel que perdió sus tierras
pero no se resigno
combatiendo hasta morir
con nobleza y con valor.
Indio me dice la gente
es por que hay una razón
criollo de tierra caliente
de mi pueblo un sevidor
mi madre una hermosa India, mi padre de buen color
cuatro hermanos piel canela
mas yo que soy el menor
de una misma descendencia y una misma religión.
El campo donde nacimos
nos fue llenando de amor
sus flores, sus mariposas, su fragancia y su color
detalles que siendo humildes
no se mustian con el Sol.
Indio me dice la gente
romantico y trovador
musa que pasa sonriente endulzando una canción.
Pero si ellos comprendieran
que ser Indio es mi pasión
que mi angel es primitivo y es mi pecho un cimarrón
amarrarian de mi escencia cual si fuera un votadon.
Reynaldo Armas
Indian People Tell Me
Indian people tell me
and for me it is an honor
I am also I am complacent, popular and playful.I like to live my life according to the situation
I do not tolerate injustice because it causes me pain
It must be because in the body I only have heart.I carry the blood of the chief
the one who does not bend
the one who lost his lands
but I am not resigned
fighting to death
with nobility and with courage.Indian people tell me
is because there is a reason
creole from hot land
of my town a servant
my mother a beautiful India, my father of good color
four cinnamon skin brothers
but I am the youngest
of the same descent and the same religion.The field where we were born
he was filling us with love
its flowers, its butterflies, its fragrance and its color
details that being humble
they do not wither with the Sun.Indian people tell me
romantic and troubadour
muse who passes by smiling sweetening a song.But if they understood
that being Indian is my passion
that my angel is primitive and my chest is a maroon
They would tie up my essence as if it were a vote.
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