When my people dance
On the streets of Brazil
The ground begins to shake
No one can stand still
The mandolin’s sorrow
Reminds us of Sonny —
A young man full of talent
Yet empty of money
When my people dance
Life becomes complete
Blending ups and downs
On the same street
The confetti and streamers
Remind us of Mrs. Green
Sprinkling salt and pepper
Over the cooking beans
When we dance we wash it all away
We sin, we regret, we pray
Nothing can break us down
We dance together like kings and clowns
Samba do! Samba dah! Tropical jewel!
Samba is the true Brazilian school
We learn the alphabet primer
From the songs of the old-timers
We learn the multiplication table
Right straight from the old wooden cradle
Clapping hands, swinging feet
Listening to the sound of heartbeats