[Intro – berimbau feel] tic-tudum, tic-tudum, turik-tic, turik-tudum [Verse 1] It’s in this zum-zum-zum that I step into the game, Much respect — my name is Besouro Mangangá (Êta Mangangã~) Inside this roda, my partner, I’ll tell you where I came from, Born in the Recôncavo, Black mother, moonlit nights that sang (Êta Mangangã) My body was closed, but my soul wore no chain, Xangô guards my steps, Iansã whispers through my veins (Êta Mangangã) Capoeira was my prayer, my weapon, my scream, With it I flew higher through Brazil’s narrow streets and seams (Ê Mangangã!) And when I heard them say, “Stay down, boy, know your place,” I answered with my ginga: “I was born free — no master, no leash.” [Bridge] Slow down, hot-headed Black man, you’re burning with rage, Your body walks free, but your heart’s still trapped in a cage, Ô-lê-lê (Slow down, hot-headed Black man, you’re burning with rage, Your body moves freely, but your spirit’s still locked away, Ô-lá-lá) [Pre-Chorus] Flying is a flying kick, Bat goes out, bat comes back quick, A strike straight to the chest — is that a blessing? God forgives… I don’t miss. (repeat) [Chorus] Half-moon, jaw strike — don’t play with my ginga, no! Sweep your feet, hammer blow — my arsenal’s a storm. Besouro Mangangá never bows, never stays on the floor! Those born to ride the wind will rise with hands and soles. (repeat) [Verse 2] They still talk about freedom while censoring us in silence, Turn our rage into a meme, but our faith stays in motion and defiance. People starve while politicians pose for selfies, The poor still believe it’s “civic” to be cynical — deadly (Oh, Mangangã!) Ministers speak smooth, deputies smile for the cam (Yeah!) And the people in line feel the pressure — that’s the system’s plan (Uh!) They trade God for hashtags, the cross for a campaign, (Yeah!) Stray bullets hunt bodies — they always find pain (Uh!) They want Black folks quiet, artists neutral, a flawless nation, Muted screams, more workers, no chaos at the burial station. But if we die for nothing, let it be rhyming loud — Besouro reincarnates in verbs, concrete, and crowds. [Bridge 2] Today “peace and love” wears imported suits, And the clapping hand is the same one carrying boots. School may teach, but it’s the mind that learns, They say “order and progress” — yet the chains still burn. The favela doesn’t want pity, it wants space, A voice in the world, a real shot at the stage. And even if the mic cuts out, the scream still flies, Pain turns rhyme into aim — shooting through smug smiles. [Pre-Chorus] Those who promise healing always sell it overpriced, But those who spoke with love had spirits lifted high. The poor work and pray, the rich sleep in excess, Yet the greatest saint lives in the favela — where hope still resists. (Oh, Mangangã!) [Chorus – Final] My verse is a blade — don’t test me in my zone! Days of struggle and glory turn legends into bone. Those born to ride the wind will never stay down low! It was Besouro who taught me rebellion through the heart I hold. [Outro – distorted / spirit voice] “The story of Besouro never died. He lives in our revolt, in the daily struggle of the streets he once walked.”
