You didn't listen to
The samba I brought to you
Oh, I brought you roses
Oh, I brought you a candy
The roses are withering
And what was sweet finished
You disconcert me
You think you're right
But do not be fooled
In the end of the month, when the money is finishing
You run, smart
And come to ask my help
I seek you, but you hide
You don't tell me where
You not even want to see your son
In the end of the month is when you answer
And in the first trolley car
You come ask for assistance
You say that you're my frail rose
That my samba is plagiarism
And it is but platitude
In the end of the month you come, agile
Spend a short stage
And I'm out of everything
Your dance will last while
You have appeal
And don't have solitude
In the end of the party you shall hear my melody
And come running and crying
To ask my forgiveness (or not?)