La Fuga de la Tinga (mi comida cheetah)

La Fuga de la Tinga
by
Tingster & The Coyotitos

(Verse 1)
I flew down south from a nine-to-five freeze,
To chase the ghost of chilies and cheese.
A taste from my youth, mi corazón did sing —
Tinga de pollo, my long-lost chicken king!

Through La Roma, past murals of Frida,
I sniffed through the air like a hungry comida cheetah.
Then I heard it whispered through tacos and fate:
“La tinga perfecta... está en Pino Suárez, late!”

(Chorus)
🎺 Ay, ay, ay! She ran away!
My tostada took flight on the Periférico today!
With knife in hand and fork held high,
I chased my lunch through the smoggy sky.
But traffic in D.F. don’t play around —
My tinga hit the brakes and was never found! 🎺

(Verse 2)
She sat on the plate, dressed in crema and pride,
A crown of avocado on her crispy ride.
But as I leaned in, with tears in my eye,
She leapt like a luchador, and yelled "¡Adiós, gringo, bye!"

She zipped through the crowd, past elotes and bands,
Dodged a camión, slipped right through my hands!
She danced past a cop with a big guayabera,
And vanished in fumes near La Avenida Insurgentesera.

(Chorus)
🎻 Ay, ay, ay! She ran away!
My tinga tostada went rogue today!
She weaved through mopeds and taco stands,
Left me clutching just empty hands.
If heartbreak had a salsa, it’d taste like this —
Chipotle sorrow and tortilla bliss! 🎻

(Bridge)
I asked a niña with churros in tow,
"Did you see my lunch where the tortas go?"
She pointed and giggled, "It hitched a ride,
On a beetle with mariachis inside."

(Verse 3)
Now I sit in the Zócalo, hungry and hollow,
Cursing a tostada too wild to follow.
But in every bite of a taco tonight,
I swear I see her, fleeing the light.

They say in the tianguis, down near Coyacán,
She flirts with the tamales and teases each man.
But none can catch her, not even with lime —
The legend of Tinga... forever sublime.

(Final Chorus)
🎺 Ay, ay, ay! She ran away!
My tinga tostada still roams the freeway!
If you find her near the Metro Bellas Artes line,
Tell her I’m waiting — with forks that shine.
For the day she returns, on a warm summer gust,
To leap on my plate… and earn back my trust. 🎺

(Outro)
“Ay, Tinga mía… mi amor crujiente…”