Virginia Pandolfi and Javier Rodriguez at Mujercitas Tango Festival (1 of 2)

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El bulín de la calle Ayacucho, que en mis tiempos de rana alquilaba, el bulín que la barra buscaba pa caer por la noche a timbear, el bulín donde tantos muchachos, en su racha de vida fulera, encontraron marroco y catrera rechiflado, parece llorar. El primus no me fallaba con su carga de aguardiente y habiendo agua caliente el mate era allí señor. No faltaba la guitarra bien encordada y lustrosa ni el bacán de voz gangosa con berretín de cantor. El bulín de la calle Ayacucho ha quedado mistongo y fulero: ya no se oye el cantor milonguero, engrupido, su musa entonar. Y en el primus no bulle la pava que a la barra contenta reunía y el bacán de la rante alegría está seco de tanto llorar. Cada cosa era un recuerdo que la vida me amargaba: por eso me la pasaba fulero, rante y tristón. Los muchachos se cortaron al verme tan afligido y yo me quedé en el nido empollando mi aflicción. Cotorrito mistongo, tirado en el fondo de aquel conventillo, sin alfombras, sin lujo y sin brillo, ¡cuántos días felices pasé, al calor del querer de una piba que fue mía, mimosa y sinceral ... ¡Y una noche de invierno, fulera, hasta el cielo de un vuelo se fue!

English

The bulín of Ayacucho street, that in my frog days I used to rent, the bulín that the bar was looking for to fall down at night to timbear, the bulín where so many boys, in their streak of life fulera, found marroco and catrera reproached, it seems to cry. The primus did not fail me with his load of aguardiente and having hot water the mate was there, sir. The guitar was not missing well strung and shiny nor the bacán with a lilting voice with a singer's berretín. The bulín of Ayacucho street has become mistongo and fulero: the milonguero singer can no longer be heard, engrupido, his muse intonar. And in the primus no longer bustles the kettle that used to gather the happy bar and the bacán of the rante joy is dry from so much crying. Each thing was a memory that life made me bitter: that's why I spent my time I spent my time in a sad and sad way. The boys cut themselves off when they saw me so afflicted and I stayed in the nest hatching my affliction. Little misty parrot, lying at the bottom of that tenement, without carpets, without luxury and without glitter, how many happy days I spent, in the warmth of the love of a girl who was mine, cuddly and sincere ... And one winter's night, full of glitter, even the sky of a flight was gone!