Composer: Cristina Amaral
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The English translation is below the Portuguese lyrics
Full lyrics
Fumo de rolo, arreio de cangaia,
Eu vim pra vender, quem quer comprar?
Bolo de milho, broa e cocada,
Eu vim pra vender, quem quer comprar?
Pé de moleque, alecrim, canela,
Moleque sai daqui, me deixa eu trabalhar,
Zé saiu correndo pra feira dos pássaros
E foi passo voando pra todo lugar.
Tinha uma vendinha no canto da rua
Onde o mangaieiro ia se animar,
Tomá uma bicada com lambo assado
E olhar pra Maria do Juá.
Tinha uma vendinha no canto da rua
Onde o mangaieiro ia se animar,
Tomá uma bicada com lambo assado
E olhar pra Maria do Juá...
Cabeça de cavalo e rabichola,
Eu vim pra vender, quem quer comprar?
Farinha, rapadura e graviola,
Eu vim pra vender, quem quer comprar?
Pavio de candeeiro, panela de barro,
Menino eu vou me embora, eu tenho que voltar,
Xaxa o meu roçado que nem boi de carro
Alparcatas de arrasto não quer me levar.
Tem um sanfoneiro no canto da rua
Fazendo floreio pra gente dançar,
Tem o Zefa de Porcina fazendo renda
E o ronco do fole sem parar...
Tem um sanfoneiro no canto da rua
Fazendo floreio pra gente dançar,
Tem o Zefa de Porcina fazendo renda
E o ronco do fole sem parar...
Translation
Fumo de rolo, arreio de cangaia,
I came to sell, who wants to buy?
Corn cake, broa and cocada,
I came to sell, who wants to buy?
Pé de moleque, rosemary, cinnamon,
Boy get out of here, let me work,
Zé ran to the bird fair
And flew step by step everywhere.
There was a small shop on the corner of the street
Where the mangaieiro would cheer up,
To have a shot with roasted lambo
And look at Maria do Juá.
There was a small shop on the corner of the street
Where the mangaieiro would cheer up,
To have a shot with roasted lambo
And look at Maria do Juá...
Horse head and rabichola,
I came to sell, who wants to buy?
Flour, rapadura and graviola,
I came to sell, who wants to buy?
Lamp wick, clay pot,
Boy I'm leaving, I have to go back,
Xaxa my cultivated field like an ox cart
Dragging alparcatas don't want to take me.
There's an accordion player on the corner of the street
Making flourishes for us to dance,
There's Zefa de Porcina making lace
And the rumble of the bellows non-stop...
There's an accordion player on the corner of the street
Making flourishes for us to dance,
There's Zefa de Porcina making lace
And the rumble of the bellows non-stop...
