Roda De Chimarrão
Oswaldir e Carlos Magrão
Mate Circle
I was born in those lands where the minuano whistles
Preparing the herb for the mate, having mate every day
I'm a true gaucho in race and heart
Gauchoing in other places, still carrying in my veins
The blood of tradition
The sun rises early and wakes up my corner
And there goes the gauchos to the mate circle
When a sadness hits, the kind that makes you cry
There's a strong desire to leave everything behind and go away
So I grab the accordion and let the bellows tear
I run my fingers on the keyboard and in a thrown vaneirão
I even forget to cry
When I think of my homeland, a baguala longing comes
And settles in my chest, in a pain that has no equal
Then I prepare the mate and have mate freely
I sit in the shade of the house, it seems like I grow wings
Traveling in this longing
Good and hospitable land of a cheerful and kind people
Its nature draws the sun, the flag of Brazil
Contrasting the winter snows, in a sky dyed blue
And the yellowing wheat fields with the green fields
My Rio Grande do Sul
