Скачать или смотреть El Moro Pigeon Show. "Pigeon Musical Digest".

Down in North Port, Florida, where the land is broad and flat,
Where the sun sits heavy on your brow and the shade is where it’s at.
There are no hills to speak of, just the palms and sandy ground,
And a quiet piece of property where a gentle peace is found.
Behind the house, beneath the sky, stands a structure painted bright,
A green pigeon loft that catches every beam of morning light.
There lives a humble fancier, they call him El Moro there,
Just a man who loves his birds and treats them with a quiet care.
(Chorus)
In the green loft in the sunshine, where the coastal breezes blow,
El Moro tends his pigeons, watching as they come and go.
From the snowy Homing flyers to the Powders steady grace,
To the Primogenito line, the newest in the place.
No titles and no honors, just a bond that’s deep and true,
In a town without a mountain, underneath a dome of blue.
(Verse 2)
He slides the wooden bolt aside and lets the White Homers out,
They circle o'er the neighborhood, they know their way about.
Like sparks of salt upon the wind, they rise above the trees,
Navigating level streets with a practiced, quiet ease.
They are his pride of purity, his spirits dressed in white,
Returning to the green loft at the fading of the light.
He doesn't ask for much from them, just their safety and their health,
To a humble man in North Port, they are all his worldly wealth.
(Verse 3)
Then out come the Spanish Powders, the kings of strut and style,
Making every visitor stop and linger for a while.
They puff their chests out proudly in the humid Gulf Coast air,
With a Gaditano rhythm and a noble, feathered flare.
They dance along the landing board of the loft of forest green,
The most charming little characters that you have ever seen.
El Moro cleans their water and he scatters down the grain,
Keeping them in comfort through the sun and through the rain.
(Bridge)
But look inside the center flight, where the future’s taking wing,
Where the Primogenito pigeons make a humble heart sing.
It’s a line he’s started on his own, a vision fresh and new,
With feathers bright and posture right, and colors coming through.
Not a tale from long ago, but a story being told,
As the Primogenito lineage begins to now unfold.
(Verse 4)
The North Port sun is dipping low behind the cypress stand,
As the evening shadows stretch across the flat and sandy land.
El Moro whistles softly as he nears the big green door,
And the pigeons flutter downward to the clean and wooden floor.