El Gran Varón Willie Colón (English Translation) Lyrics

In the hospital room
At 9:43, Simon was born
It’s the summer of ’56
Don Andres’ pride for having a son

He was raised like the others
With a firm hand, with severity
He never gave his opinion
When you grow up, you’ll study
The same thing as your dad
Listen well
You have to be a great man

To a foreign land, Simon went
Far from home, he forgot that sermon
He changed the way he walked
He wore a skirt, lipstick, and a big purse

People say that one day, his dad
Went to visit him unannounced, what a mistake
A woman spoke to him as he passed by
She said: Hello, how are you, dad? How’s it going?
You don’t know me, I am Simon
Simon, your son, the great man

You can’t correct nature
A tree that grows bent never straightens its trunk

You can’t correct nature
A tree that grows bent never straightens its trunk

You can’t correct nature
A tree that grows bent never straightens its trunk

He let himself be influenced
By what people say
His father never spoke to him again
He abandoned him forever

You can’t correct nature
A tree that grows bent never straightens its trunk

Don’t complain, Andres
Don’t complain about anything
If lemons fall from the sky
Learn to make lemonade

You can’t correct nature
A tree that grows bent never straightens its trunk

And as the years go by
The old man, giving in a little
Simon no longer wrote to him
Andres was furious

You can’t correct nature
A tree that grows bent never straightens its trunk

Finally, there was news
About where his son was
Andres never forgot the day
Of that sad phone call

In the hospital room
From a strange illness, Simon died
It’s the summer of ’86
No one cried for the sick man in bed 10

Simon, Simon
Simon

You can’t correct nature
A tree that grows bent never straightens its trunk

We must have compassion
Enough of morals
Let he who is without sin
Cast the first stone

You can’t correct nature
A tree that grows bent never straightens its trunk

He who never forgives
Has a certain destiny
To live with bitter memories
In his own hell

You can’t correct nature
A tree that grows bent never straightens its trunk