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