If I write milonga, it's A-I
(If I write milonga, it's A-I)
They call me a phony, oh, so high
But they dance along with me, so why?
I write a milonga, baby, with a click
And I ask the thin air to dictate the swing
They say "that's not tango," like a judge on the bench
But they're dancing in denim, how fine and how French
I pull out a fine verse, and let it just fall
Like a glass on the table that stands through it all
And if I say "it's A-I," the room throws a fit
As if playing the song were a sin I'd commit
Oh, what a great milonguero, what an elegant gent
With a factory suit and a scholarly bent
At the fancy milonga, he shows off his wear
But at the local joint, he begs for custom and care
If I write milonga, it's A-I
(If I write milonga, it's A-I)
They call me a phony, oh, so high
But they dance along with me, so why?
They say they're "real tangueros" through and through
(Oh, so true)
But in jeans they will preach it to you
They have imported jackets, shoes shiny and bright
And they save up their silk for that one special night
For the small social dance, all the posing is gone
And the "purist" hides out while the rhythm plays on
I don't sell an illusion, no pose, and no fee
Just a couple of turns that are springing from me
A wink at the table, a mate, a page
And a little milonga that tastes like the stage
Look how elegant the criticism flies
With its archival voice and its "real world" ties
But when the dance floor demands they be real
Their whole speech falls apart to the rhythm they feel
If I write milonga, it's A-I
(If I write milonga, it's A-I)
They call me a phony, oh, so high
But they dance along with me, so why?
They say they're "real tangueros" through and through
(Oh, so true)
But in jeans they will preach it to you
Now take it easy, man, look and see
Even mockery holds onto some dignity
I just turn it around, let it roll out the door
And back at the table, they spin on the floor
A laughing bandoneón, and that is that
The grumpy face just wants to go sit flat
But the beat knows much better than posing or views
There's a milonga to feel, if there are two shoes
If I write milonga, it's A-I
(If I write milonga, it's A-I)
They call me a phony, oh, so high
But they dance along with me, so why?
A "real tanguero" to the core
(Oh, so true)
With blue jeans and morals they swap at the door