My Lady of Tamales

I was hiking in the woods thinking about tamales, and probably missing my mom and her cooking. I wrote the chorus in the woods. I knew about the ladies who sold tamales on the streets of San Francisco, Los Angeles, Tucson, and I made up a narrative that could fit thousands of Mexican immigrants, and any mother who makes tamales.

Here is demo of My Lady of Tamales.

Strum, with depth and soul: DOWN UP DOWN UP DOWN UP DOWN

(A) She cooks every morning (E) each one made by hand

(A)Tamales, (D) tamales, (E) made in her new land(A)

(A) Days on the corner, (E) nights door to door

(A) Selling tam(D)ales and (E) giving her soul (A)

(E) 2 for 2 dollars, (A) best meal in town

(E) Her red sauce is spicy, (A) her mole’s deep brown

(A) Each holy bundle

(E) Each loving bite

(A) TAMALES! (D) TAMALES!

(E) She’s my saint tonight(A)

(A) Straight from Hermosillo, (E) she took Joaquin’s hand

(A) An Ameri(D)can dream, (E) she cooks for him (A)

(A) Crossing the desert, (E) she fed all the men

(A) Tamales (D) from home, (E)  the best they ever (A) had

(E) Now she nurses babies (A) alone in the van

(E) She buried Joaquin’s body in the (A) hot coyote sand

(A) Each holy bundle

(E) Each loving bite

(A) TAMALES! (D) TAMALES!

(E) She’s my saint tonight(A)

(A) Mission, Olvera, (E) the bars of Barrio Street

(A) Tamales, (D) tamales — (E) savory and (A) sweet

(A) Come closing time, (E) she’s fed every drunk

(A) every viejo, (D) pachucho,(E)  priest, cop and (A) punk

(E) Cornmeal and lard, (A) Spice of her kiss

(E) hugged with a husk (A) an embrace I miss

(A) Each holy bundle

(E) Each loving bite

(A) TAMALES! (D) TAMALES!

(E) She’s my saint tonight(A)