A Filipino Hombre


There was once a Filipino hombre
Who ate rice pescado y legumbre.
His trousers were wide, and his shirt hung out-side,
And this, I may say, was costumbre.


He lived in a nipa bahay
Which served as a stable and sty;
He slept on a mat with the dogs and the cat
And the rest of the family near by.


His daddy, un buen' Filipino
Who never mixed tubig with bino,
Said, " I am no insurrecto — no got gun or bolo, "
Yet used both to kill a vecino.


His mujer once kept a tienda
Underneath a large stone hacienda;
She chewed buyo and sold for jawbone and gold
To soldades who said, " No intienda. "


Of ninos he had dos or tres,
Good types of the Tagalo race;
In dry or wet weather, in the altogether,
They'd romp and they'd race and they'd chase.


Su hermana fue lavandera,
And slapped clothes in fuerte manera
On a rock in a stream where the carabaos dream,
Which gave them a perfume lijera.


His brother, who was a cochero,
Buscare in Manila dinero;
His prices were high when a cop was near by
To help scare the poor pasajero.


He once owned a bulic manoc
With a haughty, valorous look
Which lost him a name, y mil pesos tambien,
So he changed to monte for luck.


When his pueblo last had a fiesta
His family tried to digest a
Mule that had died of glanders inside —
And now his familia no esta.
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