The North with its McDonald’s, basketball and rock n’ roll

Its topless, its Madonnas and Stallone’s abdomen.

Intellectuals of the suntan; scholars of the supermarket.

They have everything, but they haven’t paid for it.

At 18 you’re only a kid trying to buy a drink in a bar,

But you’re man enough for war, for killing.

Viva Vietnam and viva Forrest Gump,

Viva Wall Street and viva Donald Trump.

Viva Seven Eleven.

They powder their noses and keep a syringe in their pockets.

They travel with some marijuana to understand the situation.

This judge of our planet offers us an invitation:

Cut off your husband’s and you’ll gain a reputation.

(Chorus)

They steal the bars and stars of my flag.

And our liberty is nothing but a prostitute.

And if the external debt stole our spring,

Damn geography, all borders are gone!

If the north were the south,

The Sioux would be the marginalized.

Being black and short would be “the look.”

Marcos would be the Mexican Rambo,

And Cindy Crawford would be the Menchu of my country.

Reagan would be Somoza.

Fidel would be an athlete selling stocks on Wall Street,

And Che would cook hamburgers “double meat” style.

The Yankees would be “wetbacks” in Tijuana,

And the rafts would go from Miami to Havana, if the north were the south.

We would be the same or perhaps a bit worse.

With the Falklands up in Greenland,

And a Disneyland in Guatemala.

And a Simón Bolívar would reveal his secret:

We’d impose a proposition 187, “Yankees get out”, by decree!

(Chorus)

They steal the bars and stars of my flag.

And our liberty is nothing but a prostitute.

And if the external debt stole out spring,

Damn geography, all borders are gone!

If the north were the south, it would be the same crap.

I’d be singing a rap and this song would not exist.