Oh Salvador, you wanted less but you got more,

You traipsed the stairway to my floor

And ignored the other calls that needed you.

And as he starts to sweep the ground,

He picks up on the unwelcome sound

Of me calling him inside and down into my apartment.

I point to all the things that need his special touch,

I ask about his family, but he don’t say much.

It takes a beer and lunch for him to open up—

That’s the friend I adore.

Oh Salvador, mi amor.

My friend Salvador, mi amor.

Oh, he knows all the tricks of his trade,

He’s an honest man who deserves to be paid the highest wage.

I’m an overeducated fool who never missed a day of school,

Just don’t ask me to use a power tool or keep the lamplight shining.

He’s a suave and sophisticated handyman,

Who braves every element to cleanse the land

Of every foolish writer and artisan

Who can’t change a bulb.

Oh Salvador, mi amor.

My friend Salvador, mi amor.

I always thought that I wanted to be just like them—

Those whose weapon is the ink that’s in their pen.

But all I see are people looking in,

Not like Salvador, who’s here when I needed him.

Oh Salvador, mi amor.

My friend Salvador, mi amor.

Oh Salvador, mi amor.

My friend Salvador, mi amor.