Old Paint (Poeira Branca)

Riding back from town tonight
I don't need the trail moonlight
This old horse knows his way home
I don't have to touch the reins
He's right on track just like a train
This old horse knows his way home

The moonlight shining
Over my hammock
A smell of bush and dew in the air
Stars shining
Quiet, falling
A bird far away starts to sing
Already at dawn a wood fire
A glow of embers sets the place on fire
A very strong coffee, from a pot and a trivet
Kelé, the cook, doesn't let it delay

Hey
Open the gate, our group is passing by!
Ten thousand hooves raise white dust in the air

He waits faithfully to save me
From poker games and painted ladies
This old horse knows his way home
And when my heart or pay is gone
I climb up and just hold on
This old horse knows his way home
Cowboy blues fade to black
In an old bunkhouse rack
And so I whistle back in the saddle again

The weight of the load on donkey's backs
Polacks echo all over the place
Straw cigarette, leftover smoke
At the other farm, I'm going to buy
And for the task, loyal companions
Friends of the road, brothers of the place
From the driver, key holders, pointer
Who plays the horn to call the cattle

Hey
Open the gate, our group is going to rest!
Tomorrow early we'll be heading to another place
This old horse knows his way home
Ten thousand hooves raise white dust in the air
This old horse knows his way home