Born from a favela, tráfico full of it
a perfect barraco, my best friend
so much to play for, so much to earn for
I sing cuz I can't play,
I'm fat, everyone says
Hasten to ground by a french guy
running within this big field, this exhaustive game
my dinheirinho to nobody
never sigh for better game
its already lost, played and fucked
every passe that ronaldinho does
everything just a derrota in the niight
wrote for the loser, wrote for the ronaldinhas
they died for the gordo, the one in the field
created a kingdom, only banha, not wisdom
failed in becoming a god
If you read this line, remember not the fiasco that was the game
remember only the foot, the one without talent
For we haven't given our strenght, and we didn't have any strenght
Disconforting homeland, povo's vaia,
where playing well became a thrill I never knew
the bitter derrota fucking down my life
Teach me how to play 'cause I fear it's gone
Show me Ballack, hold the ball
So much more I wanted to give to the povo that once loved me
I'm sorry
The banhas will tell (my cara de pastel)
I play no more to shame, nor Brazil, nor you
And uh. I wish I wasnt called a pipoqueiro anymore.
(A fat soul... A banhuda soul...)
