Here’s the tale of Gringo Che
Another pig dead in the bay
Gringo Che, guerilla’s gun
Shining in the Sun

Comandante, where ya going?
Without your pen and silver spoon
The army’s coming for ya, son
Better cross the river soon

A rising hum enters the scene
Bullets cut through bleeding boots
There goes your chosen Argentine
Follow him, he calls to you
Down the ravine look there he goes
Follow him where he goes

Gringo Che in the afternoon
Hangs low in the bushy pines
Whistling comandante’s tune
From a far off distant time

In the air, you can hear it come
The big red one
Get it done, get it done
It’s the return of the chosen ones