Entering the ring is a man dressed in black
Pants made of Spandex and a cape upon his back
Lights flashing in my eyes as he strikes a pose
When suddenly another guy runs up and slaps his nose
They engage in fisticuffs pretty much right away
These masked marauding machismo masters of melee
Tantalizing crowds of folks with colorful displays
Of interesting headwear and acrobatic play
Tell me why you want to be a Luchador
Is it cash, hella ass, or something more
And if that's true, I am as confused as your mask is laced
I need to know why you don't want to show your goddamn face
Getting back into the match, the man in black is down
Taking headbutts to the nuts while he lies on the ground
The other dude in gold and blue is clearly in control
Humiliate the heel before the last submission hold
The driving force behind these Luchadors is commonplace
A better life without the strife of the rat race
It's quite the fight with dudes in tights and fancy clothes
A metaphor that's at least endured in Mexico