As the ground fries,
In a hot cafe called The Mexi-Corn
I slurped Menudo in the morn'.
Called me wetto.
Then I asked for fries.
Cause the menu's kind of hard to read,
It was hand writ with some applied speed.
Called me wetto.

No comprende, understand?
Need to get a better writing hand,
So I can read this menu in your fine cafe.
Then they stared a hole through me,
As unkind as can be.
So I had to turn my head,
Around the other way.

As the ground burns,
While this menudo soup it always runs my nose,
Hope not to sneeze and get it on my clothes.
Called me wetto.

Guess I'll never learn,
I just want to eat and not ignite.
I came for a meal,
And not for a fight.
Called me wetto.

Then in a dash of desperation,
A cockroach runs my way.
But just for fun slapped the bar,
Off he spun, seein' stars,
And lands in my fries.

So then I gathered up all my stuff and ran,
Back out on the street with my hat in my hand.
Called me wetto.

But I left my fries,
On a hot and dry San Antone morn'.
I'm walkin' down the street from The Mexi-Corn.
Called me wetto.
Called me wetto, oooooooh.