A Cidade do Samba

The city of samba is a bohemian stronghold
No matter the time, whether night or day
The city of samba is the perfect dream
It's the concrete coexistence between the crooked and the right
Through the squares and hills there's always samba circles
And the cavaquinho crying with the pick on the strings
And in the corner bars there's MPB and bossa nova
Guitars and poets releasing verses and rhymes
And on the bar table there are Cuban cigars,
long and thin cigarettes, beer and 12-year-old whiskey
And beautiful Panama hats parade on heads
And you can see the joy of humming in faces
And with attentive eyes, melted maidens
by the small talk, by the sweet lies
And with open hearts, women in love
with the noble poets, scoundrels and their words