Burguesia
Cazuza
Bourgeoisie
The bourgeoisie stinks
The bourgeoisie wants to get rich
As long as there is bourgeoisie
There will be no poetry
The bourgeoisie has no charm nor is discreet
With their doll hair wigs
The bourgeoisie wants to be a member of the Country Club
The bourgeoisie wants to go to New York for shopping
Poor me who came from the bosom of the bourgeoisie
I am rich but not mean
I also smell bad
I also smell bad
The bourgeoisie is ruining Barra
Sinking boats full of children
And sleep peacefully
And sleep peacefully
The napkins are always clean
The maids, in uniform
They are locals wanting to be English
They are locals wanting to be English
The bourgeoisie stinks
The bourgeoisie wants to get rich
As long as there is bourgeoisie
There will be no poetry
The bourgeoisie doesn't notice the pain
Of the gum seller
The bourgeoisie only looks at themselves
The bourgeoisie only looks at themselves
The bourgeoisie is the right, is the war
The bourgeoisie stinks
The bourgeoisie wants to get rich
As long as there is bourgeoisie
There will be no poetry
People will see they are being robbed
There will be a revolution
Unlike the one in '64
Brazil is fearful
Let's take the money stolen from the bourgeoisie
Let's go to the streets
Let's go to the streets
Let's go to the streets
Let's go to the streets
To the streets, to the streets
Let's end the bourgeoisie
Let's blow up the bourgeoisie
Let's put the bourgeoisie in jail
On a forced labor farm
I am bourgeois, but I am an artist
I am on the side of the people, of the people
The bourgeoisie stinks - stinks, stinks, stinks
The bourgeoisie wants to get rich
As long as there is bourgeoisie
There will be no poetry
Pigs in a pigsty
Are more dignified than a bourgeois
But there is also the good bourgeois
Who lives off their work honestly
But this one wants to build a country
And not abandon it with a briefcase of dollars
The good bourgeois is like the worker
Is the doctor who charges less for those who don't have
And cares about their people
In humans living like animals
Trying to strangle you at the car window
At the traffic light, at the traffic light
At the traffic light, at the traffic light
The bourgeoisie stinks
The bourgeoisie wants to get rich
As long as there is bourgeoisie
There will be no poetry
