I am the Creole driver, who goes,
who goes playing on the way, tará rarí,
his joyful cornet, signaling,
that the tram is coming soon.
Careful, young lady, careful now,
first, you have to stop.
Up front there’s no space,
take a seat in the back.
And I am the motorman, talán talán,
who takes from Once to Lorea
safely, so the public sees
what electricity can bring.
When you get off the vehicle
don’t make a scene, my friend,
don’t step on the rail, it might end badly.
The heart
is pulled tight in the chest,
like the Percheron
pulling uphill.
And if love calls
from a doorway
even the motorman,
who is a true Don Juan,
will brake and say:
Hold on tight, feelings, I’m the one in control here.
If there’s no seat left, grab onto the railing.
And if we spy a fine lady,
we stop fast and swipe it clean.
Because when it comes to girls,
first come the affairs of flirtation.
Because when it comes to girls,
first come the affairs of flirtation.