I found my piece on the avenue in a yellow shirt
Singing Florisbela, hi, Florisbela
I invited him to come home with me
He showed me an ironic smile
Disappeared in the turmoil of the gallery
It wasn't good at all
(Very)
My piece was actually well sucked
Well screwed across it it went staggering around
Ending up in a cord with a reco-reco in his hand
Later I found him in a café zurrapa
From Largo da Lapa folio de raa
Drinking the fifth glass of cachaa
He came back at seven o'clock in the morning , but only on Wednesday
Singing the gardener, hi, the gardener
He asked me, still in a daze, for a glass of water with bicarbonate
My piece was really bad
Well, fell on the bed and didn't even take off his shoes
And snored for a week
Woke up grumpy and wanted to fight with me
What a danger, but I don't care
My piece dominates me, it fascinates me
He's the one, that's why I don't take it badly
He took the yellow shirt and set it on fire
I like him, so he passed the joke on to me!

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