Pancho Lopez

Born in Chihuahua in 1903, On a sairape out under a tree. He was so fat he could almost not see. He could eat twelve tacos when he was only three. Panjo, Panjo Lopez, the pride of Old Mexico.

When he was seven he could shoot his gun. Right on his burro tilde it is done But when there's work to do I bancho he run He go out a greening to sleep in this song Bancho, bancho lópez You laces son of a gun On the revolution and bancho he gets sore He go with bancho víja to fight in the war

But Banjo he don't like this risky turn. He come back to Chihuahua and he sleeps some more. Banjo! Banjo Lopez! He lie in the sun and snow. When he wake up he's sleeping all done.

The wet back movement have just begun. So he pack his guitar, this another gun. And he come to California to follow the songs. Panjou, Jean Lopez, he swim across the Rio Grande. Panjou, he work till he almost drop.

Out in the fields he pick up the crop, so he come to Alvera Street and he open up. At Taco's stand and his troubles is stopped. Pancho Pancholopes, the king of Olvera Street So if you're ever in Los Angeles Come to Olvera Street and there he is Selling his tacos and his beans with cheese

Ouchihuahua, it was never like this Pancho, Pancho, this the king of all various three