It was a group of those you see in a joint for a hundred bucks;
coca, beer and sex, ridge of starch, sucks with nails.
They were four men of a provocative intensity
shouting to the world: our hour has finally arrived!
And they played rock and roll,
something immature but rocanrol,
Tiny dark but Rocanrol,
pretty hard but rocanrol,
If there is no future, live the rock!
Until the summer arrived
and they were introduced to an announcer
I had a friend arranger
that was a producer's neighbor
married to a keyboardist
very avant-garde
that was the mistress
from an elegant representative
that has a partner with a lot of eyes
to do business
with the singers.
And the Visa arrived, with its blackmail,
and the rush of travel began
and the laughter is over.
They no longer go to bars, they set up their moves in private,
they know how to adapt to the demands of the market;
six galas did with the Duke in the municipal
they were the third ones of the not-sure-how many principals.
Now they play pure pop,
intentional but pure pop,
Tiny but pure pop,
against the past: long life to pop!
Since the summer arrived
and they were introduced to a consultant
of image that was rolled
with a promoter's niece
brother-in-law of a certain dressmaker
she was the wife of a columnist
from that prestigious magazine
for his talent for the thing
of the release of the artists.
Now they go from yuppies -photos in 'Hola'-
They swear by Snoopy, which is cool,
they pass from the groupies.
Today they play the rap of the optimist
instead of the blues of need,
even in the dentist's office
they sound for the musical thread.
They were left with the Portuguese vote
the thirteenth in Eurovision,
they who swore to eat their lives
It was life and he deserved it.
And although they have stepped more than one mie ***
your blue suede shoes
now they go with Lottuse on the carpets
and Solana they deal with you.
Nobody feel alluded to me
the morals make me vomit
I wanted to make a funny story, without
similar to reality.
Let her stay with the three legs
certain critic out there
If I lie when I say I never ask
advice and I never gave them.
Unless the tipejo that's the mirror
I hesitate,
sometimes he makes me a cut of sleeves and says
'there's no one to support you, kid'
After all, the only thing that happens
is that I needed to compose (to eat)
a song that ends in a
damn time this elepé.
I would like, in place of this reggae,
have written Rhapsody in blue
Chelsea hotel, Guantanamera,
Tattoo, or She Loves you (ye, ye, ye).
Pedro Navaja, Like a Rolling Stone,
Two gardenias for you,
Look, you're a scoundrel, I do not
another thing to think about you,
Marieta, The statue of the botanical garden,
Moon over Bourbon street.
What guilt I have if at the most I arrive
is a Let's say I'm talking about ...
Let's say I'm talking about ...
Let's say I'm talking about ... peanuts
if you want with your girlfriend have fun ...
Only among all we can make this a better place :)