When I was a large child we would hear concerts at the Palace of Music. We would see people like Paco Ibañez sing, and we would make fun of them later the same night for being too serious.
But we would only do this in private because we knew all too well that people could still be garroted, probably in our city. The police were shooting rubber bullets at us and everyone, and we did not know who would be tortured to death in Carabanchel or elsewhere after we went home.
At this time that Blackguard was still a Falangist child. And on Thursday that fucking Blackguard called me a “Puritan” for not receiving his silly telephone communications to my home at 11:59 PM and later.
And I told him he was a manipulative, lying Blackguard. And that I, personally, would like a colleague. Not a 16 year old macho man son I did not raise or a 12 year old gossiping daughter I did not raise, either. And that I had plenty of comadres in my barrio, but that at my workplace I would like to see a professor.
“You have insulted my honor,” said he. Que nunca tuvo. Ni qué carajo.
Axé.
coldhearted scientist وداد 
Here’s something that might vaguely help to know, in general.
Yes, but he’ll never get it. I am physically revolted by this person at this point. He speaks poorly and obsessively of everyone, invents and spreads gossip, and when called on it says his poor behavior is excusable because his penis is hurting (yes, he actually says that).
The lyrics are by Francisco de Quevedo, and here they are:
Pues amarga la verdad,
Quiero echarla de la boca;
Y si al alma su hiel toca,
Esconderla es necedad.
Sépase, pues libertad
Ha engendrado en mi pereza
La Pobreza.
¿Quién hace al tuerto galán
Y prudente al sin consejo?
¿Quién al avariento viejo
Le sirve de Río Jordán?
¿Quién hace de piedras pan,
Sin ser el Dios verdadero
El Dinero.
¿Quién con su fiereza espanta
El Cetro y Corona al Rey?
¿Quién, careciendo de ley,
Merece nombre de Santa?
¿Quién con la humildad levanta
A los cielos la cabeza?
La Pobreza.
¿Quién los jueces con pasión,
Sin ser ungüento, hace humanos,
Pues untándolos las manos
Los ablanda el corazón?
¿Quién gasta su opilación
Con oro y no con acero?
El Dinero.
¿Quién procura que se aleje
Del suelo la gloria vana?
¿Quién siendo toda Cristiana,
Tiene la cara de hereje?
¿Quién hace que al hombre aqueje
El desprecio y la tristeza?
La Pobreza.
¿Quién la Montaña derriba
Al Valle; la Hermosa al feo?
¿Quién podrá cuanto el deseo,
Aunque imposible, conciba?
¿Y quién lo de abajo arriba
Vuelve en el mundo ligero?
El Dinero.
This is a LETRILLA SATÍRICA on poverty and money from the Spanish Parnassus (1648), for Terpsichore, the fifth Muse. Here is P.I. singing it in 1969, in a version much closer to what I first heard. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dM5B-wXhQok
Here is a big old Quevedo site. http://www.franciscodequevedo.org/
His dates are 1580-1645.