Granada, tierra sonada por mi, mi cantar se vuelve gitano cuando es para ti. Mi cantar, hecho de fantasia; mi cantar, flor de melancolia, que yo te vengo a dar. Granada, tierra ensangretada en tardes de toros, mujer que conserva el embrujo de los ojos moros. De sueno, rebelde, gitana cubierta de flores, y beso tu boca de grana, jugosa manzana que me habla de amores. Granada, manola, cantada en coplas preciosas, no tengo otra cosa que darte que un ramo de roas, de rosas de suave fragrancia que le dieran marco a la Virgen morena. Granada, tu tierra esta llena de lindas mujere, de sangre y de sol.
Translation: Granada, land of my dreams, mine becomes a gypsy song when I sing to you. My song, born of fancy; my song, melancholy flower, that I've come to offer you. Granada, land covered in blood from the bullfighting afternoons, woman who retains the spell of Moorish eyes. A dream-land, a rebel, a gypsy, covered with flowers, and I kiss your scarlet mouth, juicy apple that tells me about love affairs. Granada, my beautiful, sung in precious coplas, I have nothing else to give you but a bouquet of roses worthy of adorning the brown-skinned Virgin. Granada, your soil is full of beautiful woman, blood and sunshine.
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Copy to Clipboard: Granada, tierra sonada por mi, mi cantar se vuelve gitano cuando es para ti. Mi cantar, hecho de fantasia; mi cantar, flor de melancolia, que yo te vengo a dar. Granada, tierra ensangretada en tardes de toros, mujer que conserva el embrujo de los ojos moros. De sueno, rebelde, gitana cubierta de flores, y beso tu boca de grana, jugosa manzana que me habla de amores. Granada, manola, cantada en coplas preciosas, no tengo otra cosa que darte que un ramo de roas, de rosas de suave fragrancia que le dieran marco a la Virgen morena. Granada, tu tierra esta llena de lindas mujere, de sangre y de sol.
Translation: Granada, land of my dreams, mine becomes a gypsy song when I sing to you. My song, born of fancy; my song, melancholy flower, that I've come to offer you. Granada, land covered in blood from the bullfighting afternoons, woman who retains the spell of Moorish eyes. A dream-land, a rebel, a gypsy, covered with flowers, and I kiss your scarlet mouth, juicy apple that tells me about love affairs. Granada, my beautiful, sung in precious coplas, I have nothing else to give you but a bouquet of roses worthy of adorning the brown-skinned Virgin. Granada, your soil is full of beautiful woman, blood and sunshine.
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