In this stoned sea of
hypocrisy
Where reigns dissolute
gentlemen
He sits down the smell of
the paralysis
And of the rottenness of the
corrupt ones
The legitimate swindlers of
Portugal
They come for such Angola
and which
To burst the business
fabric
They don't pay wages, that
is legal
Angola and the Angolan ones
come to help
And any one can
emigrate
He becomes like this easier
to plunder
Maidservants and dressmakers
to work
They come with the macabre
plan
Of enslaving the
Angolan
If he gives to tolerate one
more year
That is easy for who is
gypsy
He makes your work mwangolé,
he does
because near the end of the
month
wage? kumbu?, won't you see
him
The old, abandoned
combatants
Stateless persons in the
foreigners' homeland
They perish for you
unconscious
It remains them surviving as
bandits
Until there is
discrimination in the obituaries
You of the petroleum are the
Nation
The foreigners live, they
have wages
And the Angolan monkeys?
NO!
The ones that think that they
dominate us
For more how long? One
days?
Implacable our lives
mourn
As in the dark melodies
Even in the streets they
oppress surviving
They want a colonial
Luanda
Already nobody more he can
sell
In this celestial Portuguese
Luanda
Each tuga at random that
here sees the mirage
It is one more job than it
diverts us
The poverty is exported in
this mining
In this Angola where
everything is purloined
It is the effective colonial
dream
Again in present Angola
In that inglorious people's
soul
The
vile depressing cooperation
Image:
www.fotolog.com
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