Mágoa de Boiadeiro

Back in the day, not even in dreams did we see
So many bridges over rivers
Or asphalt on the roads
We used to ride four or five horses
To bring the cattleman to the rodeo with the herd

But nowadays everything's so different
With progress, our people
Don't even have a clue
That among others, I was a cowboy
On this Brazilian land, the heroes of the epic

I miss seeing in the little towns
The young ladies at the windows
Waving a flower
For all this, I lament and confess
That the march of progress is my greatest pain

Every big load I see carried
Transporting a herd
Tightens my heart
And when I look at my gear hanging
I laugh through my sadness to avoid crying from love

My horse neighing out in the pasture
Surely crying too
In the saddest solitude
My spurs, my wide-brimmed hat
A pack saddle, a horn, a machete

The old rough saddle, the brand, and the gear
My lasso and the pack animal
My handkerchief and my vest
Still left is the belt without money
Of this poor cowboy who lost his trade

I'm not a poet, just a country guy
And the theme that inspires me
Is the spirit of a cowboy
Almost crying, filled with this heartache
I scribbled these words and this song came out

A song that speaks of the longing for the inns
That I once shared with the cowhands
By the fire in a barn
Crazy longing to hear the lazy sound
Of a horn echoing in the depths of my countryside