- The cemetery
- Which cemetery?
- Huh.. Sad Hill, Sad Hill...

Sad Hill, sad hill where danger is born
Sterile land, childish war
And if you lose your life at Sad Hill, your scavenger carcass will rest
Close to a damn good bundle of dollars

"You see, the world is divided into two categories
Those who have a loaded gun, and those who dig
You, you dig"

9-7, the sound at max, nerves on edge, grimy, ambiguous brain
The desert creates hallucinations
Out of the tanning, the tight ropes await me
Blondin watches over my straps no matter the angle
Look at these yokels I serve as a beam
You play the role of the chouk who drags the mout that holds the road
T-U-Co-U, sit your ass down, I'm aiming for the loot
Travel light my feather a high gun, besieged
Practice the vice par excellence to eat
Everything is good to take gringo when they're going to hang you
A hope I don't think about it anymore, I represent the freshness that stinks
Among my own in the ashes the Resistenza
My brother a priest, disgusted, I cure armored vehicles
Lose excused peers, look for the jailbird
IAM wanted without the dollars
Serve my glasses at the bar
Rule, stiff, a whiskey helps
Tuco a beast the cursed earth my clan for her I plead
You hear, go ahead, have a good time
Because the day you're going to fall it's going to make a hell of a racket, tuco

Sad Hill, sad hill where danger is born
Sterile land, childish war
And if you lose your life at Sad Hill, your scavenger carcass will rest
Close to a damn good bundle of dollars

"You see, the world is divided into two categories
Those who have a loaded gun, and those who dig
You, you dig"

I break the myth, cowboys are shit
Let this sentence be written in the legend in my diary (ban title)
Look at your idol: a yokel full of dung
A guy from the west reuf a tantouse, a hick who stinks of dirty beef
Class, travel on a stallion
Let's spread the stress in the lounges, bastard at a gallop
The petals have joined (the clod word)
I walk with a (Puerta choir) bare ass on a mare who sings to my glory
Ex-convict thief in the bled of cracks full of spit where you pay in dollar
Look at these bums tanked in the saloons
Tocard who flambe at poker
My asset (is more bad) hand full of jokers
My function: to flush out the blows and practice my puncture
Nightmare of the padre champion of the extreme-unction
Shoot the bourragas for a handful of mula
Clean impec' net hooked nose eyes pulled (at the end there)
I'll walk to Sad Hill if I have to
Dig the earth with my teeth to touch the loot
And if the bounty shines at the end of a desert, dude I cross one
Spill a little beer for these cretins under my bolster, Sentenza

Sad Hill, sad hill where danger is born
Sterile land, childish war
And if you lose your life at Sad Hill, your scavenger carcass will rest
Close to a damn good bundle of dollars

"You see, the world is divided into two categories
Those who have a loaded gun, and those who dig
You, you dig"

A damn bird announces the arrival of the sun, ass in the air in my boots
A bottle in hand, I wake up, mouth pasty the bandana across
The feathers not in agreement, the mouth in the cushion
The pope of kidnapping, I introduce myself Joe the Indian the grumpy
Broken on peyotl, watches over his kitty
Sad Hill the promised land bears the mark of my boots
The Black Hills my cave, I drag gringos there if it suits me
And it's rare when these toilets don't shit in their pants
On the road since El Paso, days that I'm shitting
I had to shoot twenty-five John Wayne, and about fifteen Butch Cassidy
Scalp the guys, I put my colts in the saddlebags
There's no more handle, too many notches
Trace, my voice guides me, don't put yourself on the wrong square
And know that my tomahawk will never let me down
I will follow your trail as a good acjache warrior, the dirty Apache
Will leave clues for you to hide as soon as I go hunting
Bad like a spiked mezcal, raised on gut-rot, which would wake up a corpse
Worse than Geronimo, the Indian strikes
Take out the pocket watch, shoot what's under the hat
And if you hang out on hill, me kidnap your squaw, Joe the Indian

Sad Hill, sad hill where danger is born
Sterile land, childish war
And if you lose your life at Sad Hill, your scavenger carcass will rest
Close to a damn good bundle of dollars

"You see, the world is divided into two categories
Those who have a loaded gun, and those who dig
You, you dig"

"Hey Blondin do you want me to tell you?
You are the biggest scumbag that... that... that the earth has ever carried!"

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