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You didn't listen
To the samba I brought you
Oh, I brought you roses
Oh, I brought you a sweet
The roses are wilting
And what was sweet is gone

You unsettle me
Think you're right
But don't be fooled
At the end of the month, when money is tight
You run cleverly
And come asking for help
I look for you, but you hide
Don't tell me where
Don't want to see your child
At the end of the month is when you respond
And on the first tram
You come asking for assistance

You say my rose is fragile
That my samba is plagiarism
And it's just a cliché
At the end of the month I know you come quickly
Spend a short time
And I'm left with nothing
Your dance will last as long as
You have charm
And no loneliness
At the end of the party you'll hear my song
And come running in tears
Begging for forgiveness (or not?)