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KUMPADRI
Kumpadri has a problem
Abused by the boss,
Always put in back,
Treated like a dog.
Kumpadri has no connections
Kumpadri
Worker since the old times,
A machine-doctor,
More clever than a grouse
For every sickness
It’s Kumpadri
The machine-doctor.
Call in the foreign experts,
Why bother?
Kumpadri’s from our land
And he’s treated like a dog
Ever since the time of Sun,
‘til today’s new moon,
it’s that same Kumpadri.
Oh, his eyes are open.
He appeals to the top,
But is sent back down.
He claims his worth, his right,
Kumpadri without a connection
Treated like a dog
Kumpadri is right,
But his right is denied.
It’s connections, Kumpadri
Connections, connections
Kumpadri
Democracy is like a banana
Tree (Cut to the ground, it
still sprouts back)
Lyric – Zé Manel
Music Zé Manel
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AFRICAN CITIZEN
In my dream I saw
one nation
one continent
one people
But no one
No one, but no one believes in my dream
I’m an African
I’m an African citizen
I’m an African
(citizen without a passport)
In my dream I saw
No starvation
No corruption
No war
Peace, stability
In all continent
But no one,
no one believes in my dream
I’m an African
I’m an African citizen
I’m an African
(citizen without a passport)
In my dream I saw
The Africa
And the African
Free for the first time
(the golden continent
standing on its own
but no one,
no one believes in my dream
My neighbors said
how can a nation be free
if its corrupt
and begging, begging for help
people are suffering
when everybody is in business
nothing but business
Africa will be free
In the United States of Africa
Lyric – Zé Manel
Music Zé Manel
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POET
No!
Don’t call a poet… because the child’s belly is inflated, his stomach empty
To the poem of the body
No!
Don’t call me a poet…because the child with eyes lost in despair
Is the face of the child, without childhood
To the poem of the gaze
No!
Don’t call me a poet….because
The barefoot child walks towards places of hope,
Hoping for survivors
To the poem in the soul
No!
I don’t feel like a poet….because
The village child makes his own toys
His whole life is a poem
Dedicated to one
Who will never read it
Lyric: Carlos Vieira (Noni)
Music: Zé Manel
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THE MASK OF RACISM
Racism is a mask
Mask of the game
Game of power
It is a business
A real business
On this planet
There is only
One human race
Black people
White
Asian people
Are all
The same people
With a different culture
Live in a different place
On the planet
Racism is a game
All games
Have rules
Learn the rule
But don’t play it
Education means power
Get the power
Be free
Get the power
Lyric &
Music – Zé Manel
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THE BEGGAR's HAND
A hand asks me for alms,
A face I don’t know
I’ve seen that hand before
In many worlds,
The hand with its story.
That hand that I give
My one coin
Never touched
The roses and perfume
Each hand
In each land
Held out in front of me
Is a mirror,
Hunting for a coin
From each passerby.
That hand
That was a poor child’s hand
If I give him
My one coin and and go
It’s so I don’t see
The pained face
That hand’
That yells
Save me from hunger,
For the love of God.’
‘Sir, lead a hand
for the love of God
Lyric – Zé Manel
Music – Zé Manel
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I AM THAT
She wants to know
Who am I
I’m that
Who was never born
Who will never die
I don’t have a name
I’m that
She wants to know
Where l’m from
I said
I’m from the Universe
My body
Is from here
I’m just visiting
I’m that
She wants to know
My race
I said
I’m not black
Neither white
I was born
In many bodies before
And many countries before
Don’t mistake me
With this body
I don’t have color
I’m that
She wants to know
My beliefs
And my religion
I said
I believe in a law
Of the Universe
My religion is
The divine self
The God is inside
The heaven is inside
The body is the temple
Lyric – Zé Manel
Music – Zé Manel
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MY MOTHER
When we were growing up,
you worked as a cook.
As a seamstress, you pedalled.
As a seller, you worked.
You worked, you worked,
you worked oh yeh yeh
You worked so we
wouldn’t go hungry,
to keep us from the doors
of others,
to keep us clothed
oh yeh…
Under that cool shadow,
with life,
we grew up
The showed him to us,
the eyes saw, but far from
his help,
we grew up.
Nuno, oh my brother.
We sold fry bread,
we sold peanuts
we sold coconut sweets
in our childhood
we pedaled them,
to lend a hand.
In our childhood
we pedaled them,
to help mom.
Lyric &
Music – Zé Manel
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THE VOICE OF BLOOD
The beat of batuque
palpitates in me
and the melancholy rhythm
of the blues
Oh bedraggled Negroes of
Harlem
Oh dancers of Chicago
Oh negro servants of the
South
O Negro of Africa
Negro of the all World
I join your chant
With my poor voice
And my humble rhythm
I will lead you
Through Africa’s entangled path
I feel you
Negroes of all the world
I live your pain
My brothers
The voice of blood
Blood of Negro
Oh Negro of Africa
Negroes of all the world.
Ne
Oh Negro
Lyric – Zé Manel
Music – Zé Manel
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KINGS IN DEMOCRACY
In Democracy the People rule.
Let the bosses know that
dictatorship is out of style.
In Democracy the People rule
Let the parties know that
dictatorship is out of style
Fula
is becoming king (worthless)
a Balanta is becoming king (worthless)
a Mandjako is son of the king (yes, yes)
a Mandinga is becoming king (worthless)
The seer says
it’s a Pepel that’s king (yes, yes)
a Bijugo is becoming king (yes, yes)
a Mancanhe is grandson of the king (yes, yes)
a Balanta Mane is becoming king (worthless)
a child of Geba is becoming king (worthless)
The christian men are becoming king (oh, help)
a Sarakule is becoming king (worthless)
Let the king know
that dictatorship is out of style
I’m becoming king.
If you don’t stop me
I’ll become king
I’m going to be king
I’m going to be king
If you don’t grab me
I’ll become king
I’ll become king
A demon’s becoming king.
A crocodile’s becoming king.
Oh People, it’s a spell.
The seer says
it’s a Pepel that’s king
I’m going to be king
If you don’t stop me
I’ll become king
If you don’t grab me
I’ll become king
I’ll become king
Let the kings know
that dictatorship
is out of style
Let them know
that History wrote
the cemetery of Bissau
the kapok tree at Bra
with Senegal/Conakry
Blood smelled of
injustice, to rule.
All the People
dressed for mourning
Who is right?
It end with the People
the foundation of the land.
People, oh, the People.
I’ll become king
If you don’t stop me
I’ll become king
I’ll become king
A demon’s becoming king
A crocodile’s becoming king
Let the bosses know
that dictatorship
Is out of style.
Lyric – Zé Manel
Music – Zé Manel
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AIDS
Wear your condom.
If you don’t, I’ll go to
Your funeral.
AIDS kills.
Wear your condom.
There Mana fell,
we buried her.
Mana’s man fell,
we buried him.
There the mistress fell.
What else can it be?
Mana, if he refuses
to wear it, close the door
so we don’t go
to your funeral.
Close the door.
Mana, if he refuses
to wear it, close the door
so we don’t go
to your funeral.
Close the door.
Lyric – Ze Manel
Music – Ze Manel
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WOMAN IS A COMPANION
Woman is a companion
She is a comrade.
She is our best friend
If we know how to be with her
Woman is happiness
Woman is love
Woman is friend
Woman is life
For those who have been abandoned.
Woman is the secret of her comrade.
She’s not to be made a slave
Or domestic worker.
Give her her respect
As a companion.
Value her work in the home.
It’s favor for favor.
Women with fallen breasts,
Breasts that nursed
revolutionaries,
Breasts that knew how to
accept, valiantly,
The bitter pill
of colonial life.
The most daring of men,
tremble at the breast
of a woman.
Woman is not a slave.
She’s not a domestic worker.
Woman is a companion,
she’s our best friend,
if we know how
to be with her.
If you leave work,
arrive and see that
the food is not ready.
Understand, sit and wait.
You don’t pay her
by the month.
It’s favor for favor.
Don’t argue.
It’s favor for favor.
Don’t make noise.
It’s favor for favor.
Calm down and sit.
It’s favor for favor.
Lyric – Ze Mnael
Music – Ze Manel
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