More nueva trova of the 1960s. This one is particularly relevant to today’s news about the plans to eliminate food stamps for the poor. Translation (the best I could do):
The grass in the paths/ the travelers tread over/2x
and the working woman is tread over by four scoundrels of the kind that have money.
Is it the tomato’s fault/if it is peacefully in its vine/2x
and four sons of a bitch come and put it in a can and send it to Caracas?
The misters who own the mine/bought themselves a weight scale/2x
to weight the money that every week they steal from the poor worker.
When will god in heaven allow/the omelet to be flipped over/2x
flip over the omelet so that the poor can eat bread and the wealthy eat shit.