The beggar and the piece of chicken

When there was laughter and a parade of Ferraris on the bustling Rua

While dogs and cats perched on a cold night

Played in the corners bottles of vodka and wines at Dias

Some robbed others they did not know they would be the victims

Men and women in the stalemate of the city in his Sina

Many for a night of sex even counted for Angels Lies.

In the French restaurants of flashes and dishes of very Luxury

Some educated children and little faces of Mocho

Many people ruminate the good spaghetti to the sauce sky

They are rich heirs of capitalism and the crown of Louros

An old beggar in the gutter eats the noise of Bones

He has never been loved, has wounds and a worn out face of Old.

In the street of sins of the men who fill the bellies in Fartura

Beautiful women with no panties prepared for their lusts afterwards

In Brazil, where thousands of people snack in the morning

The old rotten rich hide their shame with Wigs

A beggar tastes scraps of pizza and noisy olives in his plunder

Lacking for world class mistress plus good horseshoes dollars.

The old beggar indulges in his simpleton dreams a Choro

Wanted him to at least eat the remains of boiled chicken the good Leather

But for society's poor, what's left in life is salt and must

Poor Brazilian beggar, poor European beggar some Doutos

There is no salvation, there are no more friends, only faithful followers.

No food in the trash can and between groans in the mansions of Money.

Old patrons and young people who venture into politics

Are they beautiful ladies and matriarchs of education and a lot of haughty beauty

The poor beggar is not kissed and his Citizenship is not remembered

They are the ones who speak with false modest behind the garbage Maltrapilhas

But in the dark of the street is the beggar with a warm donated Chicken

When will there still be so many Biblical Lazarus in the transient Patriotic remembrance !?

The beggar has seen in the play many mafiosos of black Cartolas

He never forgot the spanking he took from the pit boys this is his horrendous Memories

Lacking food, lacking water, lacking a look of charity, but in the body many Sarnas

I am a poor beggar and wounded, I am from the lowest of the Breeds

Just a plate of food for the love of Gods and my curse will be Farta

Where on that street of fast Ferraris and ladies with breasts parrots.

I'm hungry, says the rich man, or the woman in the refrigerator and complains about what she has, poor Brazil

The dogs howl in the murky darkness of bandits with scarred foreheads, they are Cursed

In the street of wealth do not the poor natives understand our poverty?

We are Terrans, but much more a pack of Cynics

A silver fell from the pocket of the socialite and this was the beginning of Mythical expenses

But even so all Brazilians continue as Lázaro, Lisos.

It's the end ... But, many got lost at the mall ...