Bohemian singer
Says the tradition
Known in Lisbon
A prideful figure
In our song
Bizarre figure
To the sound of the guitar
Fado lived
Selling her flowers
But her lovers
She never would sell
Oh Julia the florist
Your beautiful story
Marked by time
In our memory
Oh Julia the florist
Your voice echoes
The parochial nights
Bohemian, singers
In our Lisbon
With slippers on the feet
The air of rabble
The way she walked
When Julia passed
Lisbon stopped
To hear her sing
In the air her trade
In her mouth a song
Speaking of love
Against her chest
The grace and the way
The basket of flowers.