
Song
The Weavers
Guantanamera

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Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera...
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera...
Yo soy un hombre sincero, de donde crece la palma,
y antes de morirme quiero echar mis versos del alma.
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera...
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera...
Con los pobres de la tierra quiero yo mi suerte echar,
con los pobres de la tierra quiero yo mi suerte echar.
Con los pobres de la tierra quiero yo mi suerte echar.
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera...
José Martí of Cuba was born in 1853.
At the age of 17 he was exiled and spent most of his life away from his home.
When he was 42 he finally returned to Cuba
and within a year was killed in an abortive uprising.
And this is one of his last poems.
I am a truthful man and before dying I want to share these poems of my soul.
My verses are light green but also flaming crimson.
My verses are like a wounded fawn seeking refuge.
With the poor people of this earth I want to share my fate.
El arroyo de la sierra me complace más que el mar.
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera...
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera...
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera...
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera...
Yo soy un hombre sincero, de donde crece la palma,
y antes de morirme quiero echar mis versos del alma.
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera...
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera...
Con los pobres de la tierra quiero yo mi suerte echar,
con los pobres de la tierra quiero yo mi suerte echar.
Con los pobres de la tierra quiero yo mi suerte echar.
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera...
José Martí of Cuba was born in 1853.
At the age of 17 he was exiled and spent most of his life away from his home.
When he was 42 he finally returned to Cuba
and within a year was killed in an abortive uprising.
And this is one of his last poems.
I am a truthful man and before dying I want to share these poems of my soul.
My verses are light green but also flaming crimson.
My verses are like a wounded fawn seeking refuge.
With the poor people of this earth I want to share my fate.
El arroyo de la sierra me complace más que el mar.
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera...
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera...
Guantánamera, Guayra, Guantánamera, Guantánamera, Guantánamera...
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