Learn Spanish With Ivan Cornejo with these 23 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)
Está Dañada invites us into the cloudy world of a young woman who has been bruised by love. According to Ivan Cornejo’s lyrics, her happiness has vanished, hope has slipped away, and it seems to rain every day inside her mind. She feels nothing, trusts no one, and believes romance is a closed door.
Yet the song is not only a lament. Cornejo contrasts the gloom with vivid flashes of life: her beautiful smile, her delicate hands, and the carefree nights she spends dancing reggaetón with friends. These moments prove that even the most damaged heart can still beat to the rhythm of a good melody. The singer, half–wistful and half–hopeful, wishes that when she is alone and tears start to fall, she will sing his song and rediscover a spark of joy. In just a few heartfelt verses, Está Dañada turns sorrow into a gentle promise that music can soothe what love has broken.
"Me Prometí" paints a raw conversation in the mirror, where Ivan Cornejo urges himself (and anyone listening) to finally drop that one person who keeps hurting them. Over wistful guitars, he repeats a tough love mantra: “Suéltala, no es pa' ti”—let her go, she is not for you. The song walks us through denial, relapse, and the clarity that comes when you really look at your reflection and admit, “I’m not happy.”
In a swirl of regional Mexican melodies, the singer stacks promise upon promise—“Me prometí que nunca iba a hablar más de ti”—only to feel the sting each time he breaks it. By the end, the battle turns into resolve: he must leave, stop looking back, and begin to heal. It is a bittersweet anthem for anyone who has ever tried to outgrow a love that simply will not fit, reminding us that self-respect sometimes starts with the hardest goodbye.
“Herida Abierta” (Open Wound) is a raw, guitar-driven confession of heartbreak where Iván Cornejo lays every feeling on the table. The singer looks back on a love that promised the sky but left him on the ground, bleeding with an emotional wound that refuses to close. He realizes he was blinded by sweet words and eyes full of unspoken lies, while friends warned him not to give everything. Now he watches his ex move on happily, unaware she nearly “killed” him inside.
The song captures three powerful ideas: 1) the unfairness of suffering alone while the other person seems perfectly fine, 2) the painful wish for the ex to feel the same sting, and 3) the tough lesson of learning to be alone after giving your whole heart away. Cornejo’s voice moves between quiet sadness and simmering anger, turning each line into a plea, a regret, and a declaration of self-worth all at once. Listening to this track feels like reading someone’s diary just moments after a breakup, full of honest Spanish phrases you can borrow whenever love hurts a little too much.
Ivan Cornejo’s “Mirada” paints heartbreak in vivid colors. It opens with a playful question about which shade represents each lover, then quickly turns stormy as the singer realizes the warmth in his partner’s eyes has frozen over. Between aching guitars and a plaintive vocal, he watches love slip away: icy skin at his touch, empty hugs, and the chilling thought that someone else might now spark her passion. The song’s Regional Mexican style blends traditional melancholy with modern storytelling, making every lyric feel both timeless and freshly raw.
By the final chorus, “Mirada” is less about romance and more about self-awakening. Cornejo confesses he ignored friends’ warnings, isolated himself, and let false affection blind him. Yet beneath the sorrow lies a quiet resolve; he knows the pain will one day come full circle. Listeners are left with a bittersweet lesson: recognize when love loses its flavor, protect your heart, and remember that even the deepest wounds can teach you powerful new hues of strength.
Heartbreak with a regional Mexican beat – “Está Dañado” paints the raw moment right after love shatters. Ivan Cornejo remembers the scent, the eyes and the dance-floor magic that once made him feel invincible, only to realize that the promise of “amor eterno” was fragile. Each line circles the same wound: he can’t sleep, his body still longs for hers, even his mom keeps asking where the girl went. The chorus repeats the cruel twist: “me lo partiste en dos” – she broke his heart in two.
From dream to lesson. The track is not just a sad confession; it is also a coming-of-age moment. Cornejo admits he “fell very well” for her sweet words, yet he doesn’t regret it because the pain taught him what not to do next time. Wrapped in melancholic guitars and a slow, haunting rhythm, the song invites listeners to sway while reflecting on how quickly forever can turn into goodbye.
Imagine waking up to someone who feels like your first sip of coffee, the sweet taste of honey, and the warmth of a campfire all at once. In “J.” Ivan Cornejo paints himself as every comforting need his lover ever had: he was her glass of water when she was thirsty, her morning caffeine, even the flame that kept her heart burning. The song swings between tender memories and raw longing, showing how deeply two people can connect when love is fresh, genuine, and undeniable.
Yet that blazing romance is now only a memory he cannot shake. Everywhere he goes he still “sees” her, comparing the relationship to an addiction he craves but can no longer satisfy. Cornejo pleads that the new guy treats her with the respect she deserves, all while insisting that his own love is forged in fire and can never burn out. The track turns heartbreak into poetry, blending traditional Regional Mexican sounds with youthful urgency to remind us that some loves feel eternal, even when they are out of reach.
Aquí Te Espero is Ivan Cornejo’s bittersweet confession of a love that hurts just as much as it thrills. Over melancholic guitars typical of Regional Mexican music, he calls out a partner who knows she holds all the power. She can “encanta destruirme” and still he’s spellbound, willing to be labeled “un loco” if it means there’s even the tiniest chance she might come back.
At its core, the song paints the picture of someone trapped between pride and passion: he recognizes the mistreatment, yet can’t shake the heart-pull that keeps him waiting at the very spot “donde nuestro barco se ahogó.” He dreams of a “parte dos,” admits he lied about feeling nothing, and vows to wait “todo el tiempo en el mundo.” It is a raw, relatable snapshot of toxic devotion, reminding listeners that love can be both the anchor and the storm.
Heartbreak echoes through every strum of the guitar in Ya Te Perdí, Ivan Cornejo’s melancholic Regional Mexican ballad. The young Mexican-American singer paints a vivid picture of life after a painful breakup: weekends feel empty, familiar joys vanish, and the narrator wrestles with the shock of realizing that the person he loved now loves someone else. His repeated apologies and pleas for happiness to return reveal raw vulnerability, while the phrase “tu amor fue hecho de papel” hints that the relationship was always fragile, even if he could not see it at the time.
At its core, the song captures the bittersweet moment when hope finally turns into acceptance. Cornejo laments stolen dreams and a future he once imagined together, confessing that she still haunts his thoughts and even “robaste un pedazo de mí.” Yet beneath the sorrow lies a universal truth: moving on often starts with acknowledging the loss. Ya Te Perdí invites listeners to feel every sting of regret, then rise stronger, reminding English learners that language and music can transform heartache into powerful storytelling.
La Última Vez is a bittersweet confession from Ivan Cornejo, the young Mexican-American voice of regional música, who tells the story of falling head-over-heels for a woman whose charm is almost dangerous. With vivid memories of fluttering “mariposas,” stolen dances, and passionate kisses, the singer admits that letting go is anything but easy. Every line paints the push-and-pull between irresistible attraction and the painful realization that the relationship has reached its final chapter.
Instead of blaming her, Ivan chooses to celebrate what once was: he wishes her well, even if their paths never cross again. The chorus echoes that stubborn ache we all know—trying to delete someone from your heart when every song, every place, every scent sparks a fresh memory. In short, “La Última Vez” wraps universal heartbreak in the warm guitars and nostalgic melodies of Regional Mexican music, reminding us that love can be both our greatest joy and our hardest goodbye.
Perro Abandonado paints a vivid picture of love lost and lingering heartache. Ivan Cornejo sings from the viewpoint of someone who just can’t delete the memories, no matter how many pages they flip on the calendar. From whispering sweet nothings in a sweaty dance room to sharing inside jokes and guarded secrets, every detail keeps looping in his head. The repeated comparison to a “perro abandonado” – a stray dog left to fend for itself – captures the raw, almost helpless feeling of being emotionally cast aside.
Beneath the heartbreak, the song carries the earthy pulse of Regional Mexican music, complete with references to corridos that once set the scene for happier times. That upbeat backdrop makes the pain feel even sharper: while the rhythm invites you to sway, the lyrics remind you of empty rooms and unanswered calls. Cornejo’s message is crystal clear: when someone plays with your feelings, the wounds linger long after the music fades, and the hope that your former lover guards your shared secrets is the only comfort left.
“Donde Estás” feels like a late-night road trip through heartbreak. Ivan Cornejo pictures himself crossing galaxies, turning off the lights, and shutting his phone just to relive memories of the girl who walked away. Every image – from dreaming of her dancing to closing his eyes to “see you again” – shows how love can make distance feel cosmic. The song’s Spanish title means “Where are you,” and that single question fuels all of his restless wandering and star-gazing.
In the second half, the singer admits he has tried everything to move on: therapy sessions, dating new people, and drowning thoughts in bottles of liquor. None of it works. His stubborn heart (“terco”) stays defeated at her feet, torn between anger and longing. By the end he half-surrenders – hoping she is well wherever she is – yet the ache of “Baby, ¿dónde estás?” still hangs in the air. The result is a raw, regional-Mexican ballad that captures the universal feeling of searching for someone who may never come back.
“Baby Please” captures the raw desperation of a broken heart that simply refuses to give up.
Ivan Cornejo sings from the point of view of a lover drowning his sorrows in alcohol, convincing himself he could run far away, yet realizing every escape route loops back to memories of her. He admits she stole “pedazos de mí,” pieces of him that make moving on impossible. In vivid, conversational Spanish he begs, “baby, please”—pleading for a fresh start, a do-over “sin celos” where they “empezamos desde cero.” The chorus swings between remorse and hope: he accepts blame, promises they can “hacerlo bien,” but confesses he’ll settle for any version of love as long as she stays. All of this unfolds over Regional Mexican guitar lines that mirror his emotional seesaw—tender one moment, fiery the next—making the song a heartfelt anthem for anyone who has ever tried to outrun love only to realize it lives rent-free inside them.
“Sale Para Ser Feliz” paints the neon-lit scene of a young woman who heads out each night determined to have fun, yet carries a silent storm inside. Ivan Cornejo watches her from a distance, remembering the girl he once loved: rose-tinted lips, a black dress, and tears no one else sees. The song becomes a bittersweet confession—he understands her urge to party because he has worn the same mask of forced smiles. As the music sways with Regional Mexican guitars, Cornejo mourns the way heartbreak has transformed her, wondering where the woman he adored has gone.
Beneath the catchy rhythm lies a tug-of-war between appearance and reality. The crowd may only see her dancing, but the narrator sees the unhealed wounds “tatuado en tu piel.” He hopes time will guide her back to a genuine happiness—and maybe back to him—yet the song leaves us in the lingering ache of uncertainty. “Sale Para Ser Feliz” is both a cautionary tale and a compassionate embrace for anyone who parties to outrun their pain.
Estás En Mi Pasado feels like the moment you finally toss your ex’s hoodie in the donation box and hit the town with your best friends. Ivan Cornejo sings from the viewpoint of someone whose heart is done being tired. The breakup hurt, but time has flipped everything around: the phone no longer lights up with clingy messages, the memories start to fade with each sip and each laugh, and personal goals are taking center stage. Instead of drowning in sadness, the narrator throws a lively fiesta, cigarettes and drinks in hand, proving that sometimes the cure for heartbreak is good company and a fresh outlook.
Beneath the upbeat guitars lies a message of self-empowerment. Cornejo admits the pain was real, yet he chooses freedom over nostalgia. The ex is politely but firmly told to keep walking because the future looks brighter without them. By the final chorus, the listener can almost feel the cool night air of a backyard party, hear the clinking of glasses, and sense the relief of moving on. It is a relatable anthem for anyone who has ever said, “Thanks for the memories, but you’re part of my past now.”
Heartbreak has never sounded so playfully tragic. In Vuelve, Ivan Cornejo admits that breaking up left him feeling like an unwashed dish and even his breakfast tastes fake. Over mournful guitars and a laid-back Regional Mexican groove, he lays out a string of vivid confessions: since his lover left, he feels half-alive, messes everything up, and sinks into depression whenever memories resurface. The singer’s world has turned into a glitchy matrix where nothing – not even a substitute romance or a bowl of cereal – can replicate the warmth she gave him.
At its core, the song is a pleading love letter. Cornejo begs his ex to return before she falls for someone else, promising that life was better back when he had nothing to worry about except the safety of his mother’s womb. His honest, sometimes humorous metaphors (“I speed up like a dog when I see you”) soften the sorrow, making Vuelve both relatable and oddly comforting. It’s a bittersweet anthem for anyone who has felt like everything is artificial once real love walks away.
“Tatuajes” feels like opening a diary that is still wet with tears. Ivan Cornejo wakes up from a bittersweet dream where his lost love is his once again, only to crash back into reality without her. The song moves through regional Mexican guitars and mournful vocals, painting the picture of someone who cannot escape memories of a relationship. Whether he is at home or miles away, everything is “not the same without you,” and that ache drives every line he sings.
Jealousy and regret color the entire track. Cornejo fixates on his ex’s tattoos, symbols that another person now gets to trace at night, while he stands powerless on the sidelines. He wrestles with questions—What does he have that I don’t?—and clings to the hope that one day she will realize what she lost. Beneath the sting of betrayal, there is also generosity: even if she stays with someone else, he wishes her well, showing a vulnerable maturity. “Tatuajes” is a haunting reminder that love can leave permanent marks on the heart, just like ink on skin, and that letting go is often the hardest art to master.
“Triste” dives head-first into the whirlwind of emotions that hits when a relationship ends. Ivan Cornejo and Polo González paint a vivid picture of waking up to silence where loving texts once buzzed, replaying every memory while regional guitars echo in the background. The singer admits the hurt: he misses her “desastre,” the beautiful chaos she brought, yet he’s determined to speed through the years until the pain fades. It is a confession of raw heartbreak told with classic Mexican regional melancholy, as bottles pile up, sad music fills the truck, and every tear reminds him she was once his best friend.
Still, the track is laced with defiant optimism. Rather than drowning forever in sorrow, the narrator vows to reclaim his joy: night rides, countless drinks, and no more turning away new faces. He neither hates nor loves her now; she has become a life lesson, a bittersweet memory he will carry without letting it destroy him. “Triste” becomes an anthem for anyone who has felt shattered yet chooses to dance, sing, and live on—proving that even the saddest corridos can ignite a spark of hope.
Ivan Cornejo’s “No Me Quise Ir” is a bittersweet confession wrapped in the soaring guitars and heartfelt vocals of Regional Mexican music. The narrator stands at the doorway of a failing love, torn between the pull of affection and the push of self-preservation. He still whispers te amo, but years of sacrifice, lies, and emotional damage have cooled that love into frost. Knowing his partner was already hurting when they met, he now believes leaving is the only way either of them can truly heal.
As he walks away, he acknowledges how painful it will be for both of them to see him embraced by other hands. Yet his repeated plea, “No me quise ir… déjame ir,” makes clear that this goodbye is not about pride. It is about breaking free so both hearts can start over. The song captures that universally relatable moment when staying hurts more than leaving, blending raw honesty with the signature melancholy of modern Regional Mexican sound.
Have you ever locked eyes with someone for just a second and suddenly imagined a whole future together? That lightning-bolt moment is exactly what Ivan Cornejo sings about in “Atención,” a heartfelt Regional Mexican track that blends youthful infatuation with raw norteño-soul vibes. The narrator spots a mysterious stranger, misses his chance to catch her name, and instantly spirals into daydreams of mornings where her voice is his alarm clock. He is caught in a 24-7 loop of “¿será que ella siente lo mismo?” while replaying that split-second meeting like a favorite TikTok clip on repeat.
Cornejo’s lyrics dance between sweet fantasy and restless urgency. He wants her attention, not her back, and he lists every detail—hands, lips, eyes, even eyebrows—that has him hooked. Time feels like the enemy: it “escaped,” and now he wishes he could rewind so his lips could meet hers and her hands could explore him. The song’s pleading chorus turns a simple crush into a high-stakes mission where only her gaze can make everything complete. It is a relatable anthem for anyone who has ever fallen head-over-boots for a stranger and refused to let that spark fizzle out.
Ivan Cornejo’s “Llamadas Perdidas” turns a simple missed call notification into a heartfelt story of role-reversal and self-discovery. The narrator once lost sleep waiting for an ex to dial his number, only to realize she was playing a game of amor y mentiras. Now the tables have flipped: he picks up the phone only when he feels like it, repeating the mantra “El amor siempre gana” while reminding himself that wasted time is money you never get back.
Behind the mellow guitars and regional Mexican rhythms, the song captures that bittersweet moment when you finally recognize your own worth. It blends heartache with a dash of confidence—showing how love can still “win” even when a relationship doesn’t, because it teaches you to stop chasing unanswered calls and start answering to yourself instead.
Intercambio Injusto paints the painful moment when you spot an ex looking happier than ever with someone new. Ivan Cornejo watches from a distance, feeling “transparent,” as if their shared history simply vanished. The song captures that awful switch from whispering Te amo to acting like total strangers, and the shock of realizing how quickly someone can erase you from their life.
Cornejo calls the breakup an unfair trade: he mended her broken heart, only for her to hand it over to another man. With raw regional Mexican melodies, he wrestles with regret, wishing he could go back and skip saying hello so he would never have fallen in love in the first place. The track blends youthful vulnerability with traditional guitar sounds, making every listener relive that bittersweet mix of heartbreak, jealousy, and unanswered questions.
“La Curiosidad” drops us right onto a packed dance floor where two strangers lock eyes and let instant chemistry take the lead. The narrator grabs his partner by the waist, swaying as if tomorrow might never arrive, and quickly realizes he is falling for someone he barely knows. The pounding music keeps their words from reaching each other, yet their glances say everything. Driven by curiosity and the mantra “life is short,” they sneak outside, head to a hotel, and dive head-first into an exhilarating night filled with flirtation, passionate singing of Ivan Cornejo’s hit “Está Dañada,” and playful references to reggaetón star Jhayco.
While the lyrics burst with steamy details, the heart of the song is a celebration of spontaneity, youthful desire, and seizing every unforgettable moment. Ivan Cornejo and Eslabon Armado blend regional Mexican guitars with modern urban slang, turning a chance encounter into a wild memory that neither wants to end. The message? When curiosity sparks and the vibe feels right, don’t overthink it—dance, sing, connect, and make memories that will keep your heart racing long after the music fades.
Está Dañada [Remix] pairs Ivan Cornejo’s wistful Regional Mexican guitar with Jhayco’s urbano swagger to tell the story of a girl whose heart has been shattered. She no longer trusts love; her world feels like endless rain, and her once-bright smile was snuffed out by a loveless ex. Cornejo describes her pain with vivid comparisons – a heart splintered like cracked glass, credit cards snapped in two – while offering himself as primeros auxilios, the first-aid kit for her emotions.
The remix then flips the mood from sorrow to reckless escape. Jhayco sweeps her onto flights to London, spins her through Bentley rides, late-night reggaetón, drunken videos, and 11:11 wishes. It is an invitation to forget the past, dance through the tears, and maybe rediscover a spark of hope when she sings this very song alone in her room. The result is a track you can both cry and party to – a musical bandaid for anyone who feels “está dañada del amor.”