Текст и перевод песни Léo Almeida - Tropeiros

Tropeiros

"O romantismo rendeu versos ao gaudério e a história decantou
Bandeirantes mas foram eles, os birivas, que fizeram
A integração destes povoados tão distantes"
João Miguel era tropeiro gastou a vida na estrada
Levando mulada chucra do Rio Grande a Sorocaba
Aprendeu nas arribadas que a sorte a gente é que faz
Um biriva de vergonha não deixa mula pra trás
O facão sorocabano levado sem aparato
O chapéu de abas largas as botas de cano alto
O trajar era modesto, mas a mirada era altiva
Subindo ou descendo a serra João Miguel era biriva
(Bota n'água esta madrinha, madrinheiro
Que a tropa vai seguindo enfileirada
Vou na balsa segurando o meu cargueiro
Com as bruacas de paçoca bem socada)
Maria murchou na vida de casa e cabo de enxada
Com um olho nas crianças e o outro fitando a estrada
João Miguel virou lembrança na cruz à beira da trilha
E Maria foi plantada lá no alto da coxilha
João Miguel era tropeiro, seus netos tropeiros são
De esperanças mal domadas que desgarrando se vão
A esperança madrinha segue na frente entonada
E seu cargueiro de sonhos traz a bruaca lotada

Drovers

"Romanticism rendered verses to the gaudério and history decanted
Pioneers but they were the ones, the birivas, who made
The integration of these distant villages"
João Miguel was a drover spent his life on the road
Leading a wild mule train from Rio Grande to Sorocaba
Learned on the slopes that luck is what you make
A shamed biriva doesn't leave a mule behind
The Sorocaba cleaver carried without fuss
The wide brimmed hat high top boots
The clothing was modest, but the look was proud
Going up or down the mountain João Miguel was a biriva
(Put this godmother in the water, godmother
That the troop will follow in a row
I'll go on the ferry holding my cargo
With the packs of well packed paçoca)
Maria wilted in the life of home and hoe handle
With one eye on the children and the other staring at the road
João Miguel became a memory on the cross by the trail
And Maria was planted up high on the hilltop
João Miguel was a drover, his grandchildren are drovers
Of hope untamed that stampede away
Hope the godmother follows in front spirited
And her cargo of dreams carries a loaded pack