La Bamba: The Mother of all Earworms

It's about 4:30 in the morning.

I'm sitting in the rocking chair in the semi-dark of the nursery, the only light an orangey glow from the night light beside the bed. The rain is pattering on the roof, there's a cool breeze blowing somewhere around my ankles. As  I move gently to and fro, cradling my slumbering son in my arms, all I can think is:

Para bailar la bamba
Para bailar la bamba

And then, shaking my head to clear it,

Por ti sere
Por ti sere

This is the result of finally looking up the actual lyrics to La Bamba, after a lifetime of singing

Bab-a-lab la bamba

It turns out the words are pretty straightforward. It's the tune that's the thing.

And I can't get it out of my head.