Ese Pinocho nunca me comía el chocho: an unfiltered goodbye letter

Dear handsome hunk: your story's falling apart. That's how the letter begins, because this song is exactly that, a goodbye letter written with one eyebrow raised.

The ex had imagined a very specific scene. He thought the narrator would be shattered, weak, traumatised, and would come back begging him to return, crying, drunk and desperate. And the surprise is: no. No tears, no pleading. I love that plot twist, because it dismantles the idea that whoever is left alone has to end up in ruins.

Then comes the chorus, which doesn't need much explaining: «ese Pinocho nunca me comía el chocho», that Pinocchio, who lies more than he talks, never went down on me. It's blunt, it's filthy and it's very funny, with that playground rhyme applied to a very adult bedroom complaint. I say it as it is because the song says it as it is, and because that's part of its charm: talking about sex and lack of attention as casually as you'd talk about the weather.

My favourite moment is the Vietnamese pot-bellied pig. The narrator already had one, she was called Vaca ("Cow"), and he often misses her. That's why he doesn't want another hog in the house, or rather another «marrano», which seems to be what everyone in El Médano calls him. That leap from animal tenderness to local insult is Canarian humour and camp in its purest form.

And before signing off, a public-service tip: careful, driver friend, because it seems a taste for the forbidden doesn't get along with condoms. It's the line from the old traffic-radio bulletins recycled to talk about safer sex, and the song repeats it so it's clear.

I'd dedicate it to anyone coming out of a relationship with someone who made them feel small. Play it in the car, windows down, and say your own goodbye-and-good-riddance in your head.

The full lyrics are below. Listen on Spotify