DANZA NEGRA

Jail and Cane
Cane and Jail
The boss man says: tu-cu-tú
The boss lady says:  to-co-tó
It’s the sun of irons that burns in Timbuktu (Mali)
It’s the black dance of Fernando Póo.
The swine in the mud grumbles: pru-pru-prú
The stuffed-shirted toad in the pool dreams: cro-cro-cró
Jail and cane
Cane and jail

Beat those that gather in furious ú (ultimar – final, to kill, ultraje – outrage)
The gongs vibrate with profound ó
It’s the Black race that, undulating,
goes in the fat rhythm of Mariyandá.
The big bosses gather at the party already.
Dance what you’ll dance, the black he gives.

Jail and Cane.
Cane and Jail.
The boss man says: tu-cu-tú.
The boss lady says: to-co-tó.

They pass the red lands, isles of tar.
Haiti, Martinique, Congo, Cameroon;
The Papiamento-speaking Antilles of rum
And the Patois-speaking Isles of the volcano
How burdened they are
with the song they give.

Jail and Cane
Cane and Jail
It’s the sun of irons that burns in Timbuktu (Mali)
It’s the black dance of Fernando Póo.
The African soul is vibrating
In the fat rhythm of Mariyandá.

Jail and Cane
Cane and Jail
The big boss says: tu-cu-tú
The lady boss says: to-co-tó.