Flashy Mouraria,
Very dauntless,
Very stunning!
With its whole carelessness,
Its mysterious air
Of a bewitched Moorish woman!
She's like a novel
In which love is a bright fire
And jealousy rules!
As soon as a window is opened,
Severa's face appears!
[Chorus:]
The Mouraria's March
Has a certain air of tradition!
She runs down the avenues of joy:
She's more of a bohemian,
She's more of a fado singer!
She goes about life in a daze
With a starched skirt,
A blouse made of chita.
She's slender, small in stature,
Cheerful, swarthy,
Gypsy and pretty!
She carries a guitar, so she can moan
Over a sublime love
That is never betrayed.
That neighbourhood must be
Lovely and the most working class in our Lisbon!
[Chorus:]
The Mouraria's March
Has a certain air of tradition!
She runs down the avenues of joy:
She's more of a bohemian,
She's more of a fado singer!