MI GURI
(O meu guri)
(My Kid)
Chico Buarque

When, my friend, my little sprout was born
it wasn’t a good time to sprout
He started growing up with hunger in his face
and I didn’t even have a name to give to him
How I got by I can’t explain, my friend,
guiding here and letting him guide there
From being just a pup
my son always told me one day he’d make it

Over there, that one there
That one there
That’s my kid, that one there
That one there’s my kid
And he makes it

Gets home in a sweat looking edgy
and always brings a present to impress
So many gold chains, my friend,
not an inch of neck left to cover
One day he brought a bag with the whole lot inside
keys, charm, rosary, headphones,
handkerchief and a pile of IDs
which I might finally get an identity with

Over there, that one there
That’s my kid, that one there
That one’s my kid
And he makes it

Makes it to the neighborhood with his cargo
bangles, cement, wristwatch, tire, tape recorder
I pray he’ll get home safe and sound,
there’s a terrible wave of muggings these days!
He makes it home and comforts me, I give him comfort,
I lay his head on my chest and he starts rocking me
When I wake up, I look to the side of me
and the poor thing has already gone to work

Over there, that one there
That’s my kid, that one there
That one there’s my kid
And he makes it

Makes it onto the front page
a picture with blindfolded eyes, headline, initials
I don’t understand these people, my friend,
is it worth all this fuss?
My fallen kid seems to be smiling
he looks so lovely to me with his belly to the sun
Didn’t I tell you from the start, my friend?,
he said one day he’d make it

Over there, that one there
That one there
That’s my kid, that one there
That one there’s my kid

Pedro Aznar: Vocals
Andrés Beeuwsaert: Keyboards