King Carlos turns his coat for better fees

and sleeves are wrapped round horns of buffalo

that tinned hornedbeef we stored smells more like cheese

so stink the rotting skins from long ago

I stille can call to mind those hours of eyse

the gauchos waving flags bravissimo

we chill like nudists put on ice to freeze

to pass the time we stage a little show

From Salta to the pole is quite a trot

you mix with that you'll find you've had your lot

drinking mate turns you Argentine

Those Latin states spin like a weathercock

baroque ears find that Spanish is a shock

unless the bell is quiet and charltenteen