Bad Player's Poem

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...)