TROPICALIA
by Caetano Veloso

Up my head the airplanes
Under my feet the trucks
Points against the tablelands
My nose

I organize the movement
I guide the carnival
I inaugurate the monument in the central highlands
Of the country

Long live to bossa-sa-sa
Long live to shack-ck-ck-ck-ck
Long live to bossa-sa-sa
Long live to shack-ck-ck-ck-ck

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 backlands

The monument has no door
The entrance is an old, narrow and crooked street
And in the knee a smiling, ugly and dead child
Extends his hand

Long live to forest-est-est
Long live to mulatta-ta-ta-ta-ta
Long live to forest-est-est
Long live to mulatta-ta-ta-ta-ta

In the courtyard there is a pool
With blue water of Amaralina
Coconut tree, breeze and northeastern talk and lighthouses
On the right hand has a rosebush

Authenticating eternal spring
And in the gardens the vultures wanders the entire afternoon
Among the sunflowers

Long live to Mary-ry-ry
Long live to Bahia-ia-ia-ia-ia
Long live to Mary-ry-ry
Long live to Bahia-ia-ia-ia-ia

In the left wrist the bang-bang
In his veins runs very low blood
But his heart balance at the tambourine's samba

Emits dissonant chords
By the five thousand speakers
Ladys and gentlemen he puts his big eyes
On me

Long live to Iracema-ma-ma
Long live to Ipanema-ma-ma-ma-ma
Long live to Iracema-ma-ma
Long live to Ipanema-ma-ma-ma-ma

Sunday is the Bossa's finest
Monday is in the pit
Tuesday goes to the farm
However

The monument is very modern
He said nothing about the model of my suit
So everything else can go to hell, my sweety.

Long live the band-and-and
Carmen Miranda-da-da-da-da
Long live the band-and-and
Carmen Miranda-da-da-da-da