Brixton, Bronx Ou Baixada

What do the graffiti walls have to tell me
What do the social barriers have to share
Why do we learn to pray so early
Why do so many sects have their place here

Just water the ghetto lilies and Beethoven
Black comes to show himself
But the sweaty milk is so ungrateful that the gangs
Are gaining more space every day

Everything, everything, everything, everything, everything, everything, everything the same
Brixton, Bronx or Baixada (chorus)

Poetry is not lost, it just converts
Through the hands on the drum

That vent rhythmic stories as the only
Promising help

Each with their James Brown
Hail samba, hip-hop, reggae or carnival
Each with their Jorge Ben
Hail jazz, baião and the beats of macumba
As well
Of macumba as well