Buena Vista Social Club Page #2

I'd light it, and my grandmother

would smoke it

So, you could say I've been

smoking for 85 years

I'll have to work hard.

Ry Cooder is here

On a tree trunk,

a young girl...

...carved her name withjoy

And the tree,

touched to the core...

...let a flowerfall

for the girl

I am the tree,

so sad and moved

You are the girl

who hurt me so

I'll always treasure

yourdear name

But tell me, what became

ofmypoorflower?.

I learned that as a young boy

Music is so beautiful

My name is

Eliades Ochoa Bustamante

I was born in Santiago de Cuba

on June 22nd, 1946

My mother, Jacoba Bustamante,

played the tres

And so die my father.

We were a musical family

I was born a country boy,

of course

From the moment I woke up,

I heard music

I had music in my blood

I heard music when I went to bed,

and music when I woke up

In 1958, I was no bigger

than a guitar

I started playing as a kid

all around Santiago

In the red light district

I played and passed the hat:

"Help Cuban musicians"

That's how I made money

I took all the money home

to help my parents

Along the road by my house...

...a merry cart-driver went by

His songs came from the heart

Like ajolly country boy he sang

I'm going to the rail crossing,

to unload my cart

And so end anotherday

of this back-breaking task

I work without respite

so that I can get married

And ifl can manage that

I'll be a lucky country lad

My days of passing the hat

are over

I'll never forget it,

but it's in the past now

I'm a country lad and cart-driver,

and in the country I live well

The country is the Garden ofEden,

the loveliest in the world

Let's ride our horses

to the mountains

Hello, how are you?

We've been waiting ages.

You're late

I thought maybe the cops

were after you

Make yourselves at home

Once, in Santiago de Cuba,

my grandfather was...

...the president of

a French society

It was called 'EI Cocuye'

Once, a delegation of Africans

went to visit him there

One of the women became

Friendly with my mother

And when she left, she gave

my mother this staff

My mother was a firm believer

in this Lazarus

I have one the same. And I believe

in my Lazarus, too

We call him the Beggar

He's very powerful

He's the one who leads the way

and helps the poor

The other Lazarus is the same

But that's one I take with me.

The one who begs

I lay flowers for him

Sometimes I light a candle

I give him honey

See? 'lt's bees' honey

I give him perfume

Lots of perfume

Every time I go out,

I spray him

And I spray myself

His little shot of rum

I like it, so I assume

he must like it, too

My wife makes him a meringues

sometimes. Know what that is?

We put them here

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