When I sing, my samba is beaten, the crowd is amazed at the mess I makeI do it, I don't get embarrassed because there's no timeI mark my counter-tempo within the measureIf you don't have the rhythm in your soul, nor singing with more calm, do what I doSamba, song, samba beat, for me it's nothing, what comes, I bringBut when I sing, my samba is beaten, the crowd is amazed at the mess I makeI do it, I don't get embarrassed because there's no timeI mark my counter-tempo within the measureIf you don't have the rhythm in your soul, nor singing with more calm, do what I doSamba, song, samba beat, for me it's nothing, what comes, I bringI don't have a poetic vein, but I sing with a lot of tactI don't make a matter of metric, but I don't even dispense with grammarI don't get in the way of music, not even being symphonicI try to make my microphone voice sympatheticBut when I sing, my samba is beaten, the crowd is amazed at the mess I makeI do it, I don't get embarrassed because there's no timeI mark my counter-tempo within the measureIf you don't have the rhythm in your soul, nor singing with more calm, do what I doSamba, song, samba beat, for me it's nothing, what comes, I bringWhat comes, I bringWhat comes, I bringI don't have a poetic vein, but I sing with a lot of tactI don't make a matter of metric, but I don't even dispense with grammarI don't get in the way of music, not even being symphonicI try to make my microphone voice sympatheticBut when I sing, my samba is beatenWhat comes, I bring