Overhead the planes
Under my feet the trucks
Pointing at the cliffs
My nose
I organize the movement
I guide the carnival
I inaugurate the monument on the central plateau
From the country
Long live bossa-sa-sa
Long live palhoça -ça-ça-ça-ça
Viva a bossa-sa-sa
Viva a palhoça-à§a-ça-ça-ça
The monument is made of crepe paper and silver
The green eyes of the mulatta
The hair hides behind the green forest
The moonlight of the hinterland
The monument has no door
The entrance to an old, narrow and crooked street
And on his knee a smiling, ugly and dead child
Extends his hand
Long live the mata-ta-ta
Long live the mulatta-ta-ta- ta-ta
Long live the forest-ta-ta
Long live the mulatto-ta-ta-ta-ta
In the inner courtyard there is a swimming pool
With blue water from Amaralina
Coconut tree, breeze and northeastern speech and headlights
In his right hand there is a rose tree
Authenticating eternal spring
And in us in the gardens, vultures walk around all afternoon
Among the sunflowers
Viva Maria-ia-ia
Viva a Bahia-ia-ia-ia-ia
Viva Maria-ia- ia
Long live Bahia-ia-ia-ia-ia
In his left wrist bang-bang
In his veins there is very little blood
But his heart he sways to a tambourine samba
Emitting dissonant chords
Through five thousand speakers
Ladies and gentlemen he puts his big eyes
About me
Viva Iracema-ma-ma
Viva Ipanema-ma-ma-ma-ma
Viva Iracema-ma-ma
Viva Ipanema-ma-ma-ma-ma
Sunday is Fino da Bossa
Monday is in the ditch
Tuesday goes to the country
Why? m
The monument is very modern
I didn't say anything about the model of my suit
Let everything else go to hell, my dear
Long live the band-da-da
Carmem Miranda-da-da-da-da
Long live the band-da-da
Carmem Miranda-da-da-da-da

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