Velha Chica (Old Chica) Songtext

von Dulce Pontes

Once upon a time old Chica
Used to sell cola and ginger
And in the afternoon she would wash the clothes
Of some important signor;
And we, the kids at school
Would ask old ma Chica
The reason for such poverty
And for our suffering.
Little boy, don't speak of politics,
Don't speak of politics, don't speak of politics.

But old Chica, wrapped in thought,
She knew but would not tell the reason for that suffering.
Little boy don't speak of politics,
Don't speak of politics, don't speak of politics.

Time went by and old Chica only got older.
All she built was a kubata* with a roof of zinc, with a roof of zinc.
Little boy don't speak of politics,
Don't speak of politics, don't speak of politics.

But now whoever sees
The face of that lady
Only sees the lines of suffering, of suffering!
And now she only says:
?- Little boy, when I die, I want to see Angola living in peace!
Little boy, when I die, I want to see Angola and the world in peace!?

*African mud hut