A Mulher do Meu Patrão

I feel sorry for my boss's wife
Very rich, so beautiful oh my God, what a woman
She doesn't have boys so she doesn't age
More nervous, she suffers a lot for not having anything to do

In the pot's heat, in the pounding of the mortar
She only has fifteen children plus the bean's broth
Measles, chickenpox, more clothes to wash
Cold, bad cough, firewood to carry
Pot on her head, there's xerém to cook
Milking the little goat, there's the goat to let loose
I live with my woman in a little ranch I built
She doesn't complain, doesn't say anything, and feels very happy

With all this, there's still a little time left
A treat, a caress, I don't even want to say

With all this, there's still a little time left
And a little samba boy is born every year