Pra onde vás Maria

Oh, the fleas are biting me,
oh, my teeth are chattering!:
young man, in your bed,
in your bed you have
some sick fleas.

WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MARIA?!
I’m coming from the garden,
what tasty cabbages
the priest has,
beneath his skirt.
WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MARIA?!
I’m coming from the salad!

To which house with a widower,
does she want to get married;
he’s already been shaken off,
my dear,
he’s not worth a dime!

The old lady with white hair
who goes to the party and doesn’t dance,
if the piper plays,
my dear Farruco,
she just stares at the bagpipes!

My man went to the mill,
and came back full of flour:
he’s not a miller,
what the hell kind of man do I have?!
who’s getting close to me?!