[Intro]
Pedro is a dog who doesn’t have one master…
He has seven masters, one for every day of the week.
In the palace he has a bed, a bowl and a leash,
But the collar changes every time the wind decides to speak.
[Chorus]
Ay, ay, ay, Sánchez’s dog!
He barks to one side and wags his tail to the other.
Seven owners, seven different languages,
And in the end he doesn’t even know who fills his dish.
Come on mariachi, play it louder, brother!
[Verse 1]
On Mondays his master is King Mohamed,
The one who really rules on the other side of the Strait.
Sánchez puts on his tiny chihuahua suit:
Shaking, yip-yip-yip, almost too small to see.
He licks the boots for Ceuta and Melilla,
Opens the gate to the boats with a campaign smile.
The tiny chihuahua barks “Yes, Your Majesty, whatever you say!”
While the southern towns run out of room and time.
The king throws him a phosphate bone and the chihuahua hides it
Like it was the treasure of Elcano himself.
[Chorus]
Ay, ay, ay, Sánchez’s dog!
He barks to one side and wags his tail to the other.
Seven owners, seven different languages,
And in the end he doesn’t even know who fills his dish.
[Verse 2]
On Tuesdays his master is Mr. Otegi,
The one who talks of peace with that familiar accent.
Sánchez turns into a fighting pitbull:
Wide chest, porcelain teeth, “I’m gonna bite you” look.
But he only shows the fangs to the Spanish right,
With Bildu he rolls over and lets them sniff his tail.
The Tuesday pitbull is made of cardboard:
He barks loud in Congress and privately asks for “consensus”.
Otegi scratches behind his ears and whispers
“Good boy, keep it up, they almost don’t notice anymore.”
[Chorus]
Ay, ay, ay, Sánchez’s dog!
He barks to one side and wags his tail to the other.
Seven owners, seven different languages,
And in the end he doesn’t even know who fills his dish.
[Verse 3]
On Wednesdays Puigdemont arrives from Waterloo,
With his suitcase, his scarf and that “I’m back” smile.
Sánchez puffs up like an English bulldog:
Stubborn, drooling, face pressed against the glass.
He wants the amnesty, he wants the pardon, he wants “now or never”.
The bulldog pants and pushes the Waterloo door
While the master laughs from Belgium
And says “what a loyal dog when it suits him”.
By the end of the day the bulldog is out of breath
And Puigdemont tosses him a “light procés” treat.
[Chorus]
Ay, ay, ay, Sánchez’s dog!
He barks to one side and wags his tail to the other.
Seven owners, seven different languages,
And in the end he doesn’t even know who fills his dish.
[Bridge]
What a life for the dog of the palace!
He changes breed faster than he changes decrees.
From chihuahua to pitbull, from bulldog to bichon,
The only one who never changes is the one who fills the plate.
Seven collars, seven vocabularies,
And at the end of the day he looks in the mirror and asks:
“Who am I when nobody is watching?”
The mirror doesn’t answer. It only barks.
[Verse 4]
On Thursdays his master is George Soros in person,
The magician of funds and foundations.
Sánchez curls up like a Havanese bichon:
White, fluffy, high-society dog.
He goes to forums, dinners, photos with marble backgrounds.
The little Havanese barks against borders
And in favor of climate, diversity and the euro.
Soros pats him on the head
And says “good global puppy, keep barking in English”.
Later the bichon jumps on the Davos sofa
And leaves white hair on every chair.
[Chorus]
Ay, ay, ay, Sánchez’s dog!
He barks to one side and wags his tail to the other.
Seven owners, seven different languages,
And in the end he doesn’t even know who fills his dish.
[Verse 5]
On Fridays his mistress is the Von der Witch,
Ursula, the one who hands out funds and rules.
Sánchez stretches out like a dachshund sausage dog:
Long, low, following Brussels’ straight line.
“More Next Generation, more Green Deal, more regulation.”
The sausage dog nods with his whole body
While the countryside complains and industry shrinks.
The Witch throws him a bone of new directives
And the dachshund chases it all the way to the official gazette.
By Friday night the sausage dog
Is so long he no longer fits in the palace.
[Chorus]
Ay, ay, ay, Sánchez’s dog!
He barks to one side and wags his tail to the other.
Seven owners, seven different languages,
And in the end he doesn’t even know who fills his dish.
[Verse 6]
On Saturdays Zelensky pulls the sled
And Sánchez puts on his Siberian husky coat.
He pulls and pulls on the budget
Hauling millions east without stopping.
“More tanks, more solidarity, more photos in Kyiv!”
The husky howls with a press-conference accent
While back home some people can’t make it to the end of the month.
Zelensky gives him a “best allied dog” prize
And the husky wags his tail in imaginary snow.
At dusk the husky comes back tired
And asks if tomorrow he has to pull again.
[Chorus]
Ay, ay, ay, Sánchez’s dog!
He barks to one side and wags his tail to the other.
Seven owners, seven different languages,
And in the end he doesn’t even know who fills his dish.
[Verse 7]
And on Sundays comes Yoli from Subtract,
The one who adds votes and subtracts illusions.
Sánchez climbs onto the lap like a little lapdog:
Spoiled, pampered, without a single opinion of his own.
She scratches his belly with labor decrees
And the lapdog sighs “it feels so good here, Yoli”.
She tells him “good boy, don’t bark too much,
Adding also gets exhausting.”
The lapdog falls asleep on the sofa
Dreaming that one day he’ll have just one master.
[Chorus]
Ay, ay, ay, Sánchez’s dog!
Seven masters, seven days, no loyalty at all.
He barks in Arabic on Monday, Basque on Tuesday,
Catalan on Wednesday and English on Thursday.
On Friday he barks in German, on Saturday in Ukrainian,
And on Sunday he just wags his tail in silence.
Pedro is a dog who doesn’t have one master…
He has seven.
And the mariachi keeps playing
While the dog changes his collar again.
[Outro]
That’s it!
Long live humor, and let everyone hear what they want to hear!
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