Wash the clothes, mulata,
sorrow and love.
The foam so white
looks like cotton.
Your hands so dark,
tar and coal.
Wash the clothes, mulata,
sorrow and love.
They say that by the river
with the southern wind’s breath,
your dark Fanchico left
in a little blue boat.
You’re washing and crying,
crying for his betrayal,
how sad to keep on loving
after love went away.
They say that through the waters,
and through the canyon,
and through the long street,
they stole your heart.
Wash the clothes, mulata,
sorrow and love.
Washing and scrubbing
with tears and soap,
remove the stains from your heart,
from your heart.
Wash the clothes, mulata,
sorrow and love.
Washing the white clothes
with your charcoal hands,
you think of that handkerchief
your affection embroidered.
Washing clothes by the shore
the waves make you think
of the loves that one day
come just as they leave.
Don’t cry, for by the river
and with the southern wind’s breath,
perhaps Fanchico returns
in a little blue boat.
The clothes dance in the air,
the wind makes them sway,
your eyes, big and sad,
only know to tear,
oh… oh… who will make them
cry, cry in the afternoon!
Wash the clothes, mulata,
sorrow and love,
the foam so white
looks like cotton.
Your eyes so dark,
tar and coal.
Washing and scrubbing
with tears and soap,
remove the stains
from your heart.