Olhe Aqui, Mr. Buster

Look here, Mr. Buster: it's very true
That you have an apartment on Park Avenue and a house in Beverly Hills.
It's very true that in your Park Avenue apartment
You have a piece of the Parthenon frieze, and in your Hollywood backyard
An oil well working by day to give you money and by night to give you insomnia
It's very true that in both residences
You have gigantic refrigerators capable of preserving your racial prejudice
For many years to come, and vacuum cleaners with more suction
Than a kiss from Marilyn Monroe, and washing machines
Capable of erasing the stain of your regret for putting so much money in vain in the Korean War.
It's true that on your table the toast nervously jumps out of automatic toasters
And your doors open with photoelectric cells. It's very true
That you have a home theater for the kids to watch cowboy movies
Not to mention the four televisions and the fabulous hi-fi
With speakers spread throughout all floors, including the bathrooms.
It's very true that Mrs. Buster is mentioned once a month by Elsa Maxwell
And has two psychiatrists: one in New York, the other in Los Angeles, for the two 'seasons' of the year.
It's all very true, Mr. Buster - you will still end up being governor of your state
And undoubtedly president of many oil, steel, and canned consciences companies.
But tell me something, Mr. Buster
Tell me sincerely something, Mr. Buster:
Do you really know what a Pixinguinha's cry is?
Do you really know what it's like to have a jabuticaba tree in the backyard?
Do you really know what it's like to root for Botafogo?