Promessa de Violeiro

Ripe fruit that falls
On the tree leaves the stem
When I die too
I want to leave what I do
I'll leave my tunes
All made in a beat
So after my death
The envious won't say I failed

I'll leave heartfelt tunes
Of love, kisses, and hugs
Talking about my life
I'll tell this piece
They've wanted to kill me
Out of envy, with bullets
I'm like a wild ox
Doesn't leave the bush
So as not to fall into the trap

I like the month of August
Which has hazy afternoons
I grab my guitar
And play some tunes
My guitar is top-notch
I don't miss a beat
I sing at any time
I'm so good
My heart never tires

My little ranch
Doesn't have much space
The walls are made of mud
Mixed with straw
My bed is leather
From the animals I hunt
Pure cowboy ranch
But it's mine
No iron, no steel