Tropeiros

"Romanticism gave verses to the gaucho and history sang
bandeirantes but it was them, the birivas, who made
the integration of these distant villages"

João Miguel was a trooper spent his life on the road
Taking wild mules from Rio Grande to Sorocaba
He learned in the corrals that luck is what we make
A proud biriva doesn't leave a mule behind

The Sorocabano machete carried without fanfare
The wide-brimmed hat, the high boots
The attire was modest, but the gaze was proud
Going up or down the mountain João Miguel was a biriva

(Put water in this godmother, godfather
As the troop follows in line
I'm on the ferry holding my cargo
With the bags of crushed paçoca)

Maria withered in life from home and hoe
With one eye on the children and the other on the road
João Miguel became a memory on the cross by the trail
And Maria was planted up on the hill

João Miguel was a trooper, his grandchildren are troopers too
Of barely tamed hopes that go astray
The godmother of hope leads the way singing
And his cargo of dreams brings the bag full