Song 142: "El Joven de Alcalá"

There is a Spaniard from Alcala
And if he gets angry he will leave
He threw a grenade at some fascists Moors
Telling them "I hope Allah saves you"
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay...

The Lincoln battalion, they are some great lads
A little too cool, stuck in
Always in trenches defending the front
Against Franco, the lackey of il Duce
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay...

In the plains of Brunete
Iron hailed, like confetti
Our planes crushed the lines
Of Franco, who bathes in spaghetti
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay...

The Lincoln lads in Jarama
Made the fascists cry: "mummy"
Defending the front, they played with bombs
And this gained them honour and fame
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay..

An old man from Albacete
Bets that he can score sixteen
Signed bombs through their asses
Through them so they cannot use the toilet
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay..

Hay un español de Alcalá
que si se cabrea se va
Tiro una granada a unos moros fachas
gritándoles que os salve Alah
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay...

El batallón Lincoln, que tíos
un poco chalados, metios
siempre en trincheras defendiendo el Frente
contra Franco, lacayo del Duce
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay...

En los llanos de Brúñete
granizaba acero, confetti
nuestros aviones aplastaron las filas
de Franco empachao de spaghetti
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay...

Los del Lincoln en Jararna
hacían gritar al facha: mama
defendiendo el frente, jugando con bombas
Y eso les dio honor y fama.
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay...

Un viejales de Albacete
apuesta que a dieciséis mete
por el culo bombas firmadas
por él para que no usen el retrete
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay…