(Tom Zé / Adoniran Barbosa)

The rich arrive at the dance
arm in arm
The devil stuffs his belly
arm in arm

Envy and greed
arm in arm
All reverence to the dollar,
skirt hiked up
a plague on the interest rate,
pants pulled down

That’s the tanglomango

Nowadays the rich man, poor thing
Is imprisoned, totally surrounded
all fenced in

Doormen, guards and alarms

Lord, find him a haven
Where he won’t be corralled
A cozy little place
Where he’ll live in peace

But the verbá, verbey
the verbiology of this politishitology
is the tanglomango
And the cardio-philoso-circusassology
is tanglomango

And it’s in that tanglomango
Que me voy pa’ el pueblo

Arrastâo of the Latin music style and of the reductio ad absurdum of Father Antonio Vieira’s sermon to Saint Benedict