Campo de Mandinga

There was once this art from Brazil
To be played in the beach
To be played in the hill
A fight, a dance, a game
An art to spread happiness,
A weapon to hurt and kill
For you to crawl as a snake
And hear "For Christ sake!"
Leave the crowd with their thrill
Where you can fly like a bird
Can clap, can sing, can smile
And give other's spines a chill
A dialogue without words
To show malicia and strength
To do mandinga and tricks
To show control and skill
A game where the winner
More than the one who beats
Is the one who gets the most joy
Who make from the opponent his toy
Who makes the butter to spill
Created by slaves down south
Who said with their feet
What they couldn't with their mouth
Who chopped the sugarcanes
Who seeded the black coffee in lanes
Who with their hands moved the mill
Who were taken from their home
But in their minds had the power
To make from their pain, something new
Who, when freed, reached town
Discriminated, black or brown
Didn't accept their way of living
Imposed their point of view
And took from their former lords
Money, blood and much more
Showed them the other face of the coin
The disease for what there's no pill
Cause the world spins
Completes one round per day
All you do comes back to you
If you ordered the food
Then pay the bill !