Mágoa de Boiadeiro

In the past, not even in dreams existed
So many bridges over the rivers
Nor asphalt on the roads
We used four or five sinuelos
To bring the cowboy in the rodeo of the cattle drive
But nowadays everything is very different
With progress, our people don't even have an idea
That among others, I was a cowboy
On this Brazilian land, the heroes of the epic

I miss seeing in the small villages
The girls at the windows waving a flower
For all this, I lament and confess
That the march of progress is my great pain
Every big truck I see loaded
Transporting a herd tightens my heart
And when I look at my gear hanging
I laugh sadly to not cry out of passion

My horse neighing in the pasture
Which surely also cries in the saddest loneliness
My pair of spurs, my wide-brimmed hat
A pack saddle, a horn, a machete
The old saddle, the seal, and the saddlecloth
My lasso and the packhorse, my handkerchief and the jacket
Only the moneyless wallet remains
Of this poor cowboy who lost his profession

I'm not a poet, I'm just a countryman
And the theme that inspires me is the cowboy's fiber
Almost crying imbued in this sorrow
I scribbled these words and this song came out
A song that speaks of the longing for the inns
That I made with the cowboys by the fire of a shed
Crazy longing to hear the hoarse sound
Of a lazy horn in the depths of my backcountry