This is the ballad of the white horse
That on a happy Sunday set off
And with the aim of reaching the north
Having departed from Guadalajara

His noble rider removed the reins
Removed the saddle, and rode bareback
He crossed like lightning through Nayarit lands
Between green hills and the blue sky

At a slower pace, he reached Escuinapa
And by Culiacán, he was already slowing down
They say that in Los Mochis he was faltering
With his whole muzzle bleeding

But they saw him pass through Sonora
And the Yaqui Valley showed him its tenderness
They say he was limping on his left leg
And despite everything, he continued his adventure

He reached Hermosillo, continued to Caborca
And by Mexicali, he felt he was dying
He climbed step by step through La Rumorosa
Arriving in Tijuana with the light of day

Having completed his feat, he went to Rosarito
And didn't want to rest until he saw Ensenada
And this was the ballad of the white horse
That set off one Sunday from Guadalajara

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