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(Unsung Part)
(recitado)
Templó la viola del payador del barrio,
y ante la rueda de aquel bodegón,
viejos recuerdos fue desenrollando
y esta milonga cantó.

Te pusimos por varón y por guapear
el Mano Brava
y hoy ese apodo
te vengo a reclamar...

Porque nunca más ha vuelto al barrio aquel,
che Mano Brava...
Soy tu "padrino" que te viene a hablar...
Soy el ayer...

(Instrumental)

(Unsung Part)

La marca ‘e fuego te ha quedao del barrio
y, aunque no quieras, siempre escucharás
la voz lejana de los comisarios
que te preguntan ¿Por dónde has andao?

Sé que has bancao por Francia y Nueva York
con naipes bien peinaos,
sé que tenés pa’l poker por demás,
los dedos afilaos...

(recitado)
Quién más, quién menos, todos cabizbajos
permanecieron por la evocación,
y continuando la Canción del Bajo
se oyó de nuevo al cantor:

Aquí está esperándote tu bodegón
pa´ echarte en cara
con cuentas claras
tu ingrato proceder...

Qué esperás pa’ regresar y pa’ abrazar,
che Mano Brava,
la muchachada que te supo dar
nombre y cartel...

English 

(Unsung Part)
(Spoken)
He tuned the viola—the guitar—of the neighborhood troubadour,
and before the circle gathered in that tavern,
he began to unspool old memories,
and sang this milonga*:

We dubbed you "Mano Brava"—"Rough Hand"—
for your manhood and your swagger;
and today, that very nickname...
I have come to reclaim from you...

For you have never returned to that old neighborhood,
hey, Mano Brava...
I am your "godfather," come to speak with you...
I am the past...

(Instrumental)

(Unsung Part)
The neighborhood has left its brand—its mark of fire—upon you;
and whether you like it or not, you will always hear
the distant voices of the police inspectors,
asking you: "Where have you been roaming?"

I know you’ve held your own in France and New York,
with a deck of cards stacked just right;
I know you’ve got more than enough skill for poker—
fingers sharp as knives...

(Spoken)
Some more, some less—but all stood with heads bowed low,
lost in that evocation;
and as the "Song of the *Bajo*" continued,
the singer’s voice was heard once more:

Here stands your old tavern, waiting for you...
waiting to cast back in your face—
with accounts settled clear—
the ingratitude of your ways...

What are you waiting for? Why not return and embrace—
hey, Mano Brava—
the old gang, the crowd that once gave you
your name... and your fame?