Linhas Tortas

Some sometimes keep me awake
But they don't take away my dream
That's why I love and declaim, that's why I sing and compose
I'm not the owner of the world, but I'm a son of the owner
Of the true Boss, of the true Patron

(Hey, Gabriel, gave up on the fee?)
I canceled a job there so I wouldn't get upset
(Explain better, what did you do?)
Okay, fine, I'll explain to you

It all started in Portuguese class
I was about five years old, or maybe six
I started writing, learned spelling
Then the essays, to our joy
Teacher gave free themes, I took a while
To choose a theme, but then I traveled
And in these trips the characters appeared
They thought, felt, cried, smiled
Then my great-aunt, imagine that
Gave me a typewriter for my birthday
I felt like a great journalist, buddy
Like my mom, who worked on TV
Then, at fifteen, but very shy
I was very embarrassed by what the teacher did
She took my text and read it for the whole class to hear
I was happy, but wanted to run away
So I discovered that I was born with this problem
I like to write, I like to write, believe, see
See, believe, I like to write and I write even poems

My Dad, I confess, I do prose and verse
At the fair I sell books, at the show I sell tickets
In the store I sell records, I've sold over a million
If that's a crime, I want to go to jail soon

My Dad, I confess, I do prose and verse
At the fair I sell books, at the show I sell tickets
In the store I sell records, I've sold over a million
If that's a crime, I want to go to jail soon

Oh, thinker, this is serious, huh!
Yeah, grandma used to say that I already wrote well
I tried to control myself, occupy myself with a sport
Surfing, soccer, but it wasn't my thing
One day I did some raps and thought it was good
I baptized myself as Thinker and wanted to make a sound
To become famous and rich was never my goal
My mom was already that, I just wanted to be a poet
My dad, a serious man, a guy from POA
Graduated in medicine, couldn't believe
Seeing his boy Gabriel
With headphones on, traveling with a pen on paper
What are you doing? Go to sleep, kid!
Ah, dad, hold on, I'm just making a rap!
No one knew exactly what it was, but I was addicted to it
And I got a bunch of people addicted!

My Dad, I confess, I do prose and verse
At the fair I sell books, at the show I sell tickets
In the store I sell records, I've sold over a million
If that's a crime, I want to go to jail soon

My Dad, I confess, I do prose and verse
At the fair I sell books, at the show I sell tickets
In the store I sell records, I've sold over a million
If that's a crime, I want to go to jail soon

I'm not selling crack, I'm not selling coke
I'm not selling weed, I'm not selling glue
But many told me what I do is addictive
And it addicts students when I enter schools
Even teachers sometimes get contaminated
They copy my lyrics and texts and spread
Seeds of what I do, I don't know if it's good or bad
But I know that many students start doing the same
Writing poems, writing essays
Even doing some raps and presentations
I remember my kids and the longing is cruel
Loneliness accompanies me from hotel to hotel
Marriage ended, I lost on the road
The love I still have is the love of the word
It's speaking and singing, awakening consciences
I dedicated my life to this and the greatest reward
Is to be a reference for those who think alike
For those who try to express themselves and are never heard
It's looking ahead and seeing a sea of people
And diving deep into their hearts and minds
That's my dive, not Scrooge McDuck's
That's my pride, writing my lines
I write in crooked lines, inspired by someone
Who gave me a mission that I try to fulfill well
I listen to hearts, like a cardiologist
I translate what they say like any artist
Who earns their fee, which is the result of work
Of the cicada and the ant, and I don't know how much I'm worth
But I know that when I earn, I share and multiply
And the more I divide, the richer I get
Rich in true wealth that is free
Like a single smile that lights up the whole square
An emotional smile from an experienced man
Standing for two hours under the hot sun
Listening to my poems in total harmony
I am him tomorrow, and today is just poetry.

My Dad, I confess, I do prose and verse
At the fair I sell books, at the show I sell tickets
In the store I sell records, I've sold over a million
If that's a crime, I want to go to jail soon

My Dad, I confess, I do prose and verse
At the fair I sell books, at the show I sell tickets
In the store I sell records, I've sold over a million
If that's a crime, I want to go to jail soon

My Dad, I confess, I do prose and verse
At the fair I sell books, at the show I sell tickets
In the store I sell records, I've sold over a million
If that's a crime, I want to go to jail soon

My Dad, I confess, I do prose and verse
At the fair I sell books, at the show I sell tickets
In the store I sell records, I've sold over a million
If that's a crime, I want to go to jail soon