In that time a sea of sequined dancers separated into their respective sections, each blazing with its own color scheme. Armed with a gas generator, a battery of amplifiers and more than 64 loudspeakers, T&T’s sound truck led the revelers as a deejay spun soca hits and exhorted the dancers to jump and wind their waists.

The truck made its way up Warren Street, preceded by the king and queen sporting steel-framed, three-wheeled costumes with spikes of color shooting more than 20 feet into the air. In all, 225 dancers sported more than $30,000 worth of sequins, fabric, paint, sparkles and other design elements that went into T&T’s winning presentation titled “Tropical Vision: a Designer’s Perspective.”

A first-place finish came as no surprise to the band, which had already secured first-place prizes for Carnival king and queen, and first and second prizes for individual dancers during Thursday night’s competition in White Stadium.

“We’re motivated,” said T&T band leader Erroll Phillips. “We have the spirit of Carnival.”

A crowd estimated at 350,000 people turned out for Carnival Saturday, lining the parade route from Martin Luther King Boulevard to Franklin Park. The band members danced along the entire route, pausing in front of a stage at Seaver Street where a panel of three judges, flown in from Trinidad and Tobago, make the final assessment.

Boston’s carnival is by no means the largest. Those held in Brooklyn, Montreal and Toronto hold their own against the Hub. Trinidadians, Phillips included, are known to claim the largest and best carnival.

“It’s the best in the world,” says Phillips, who travels home every February to participate in the festivities. “It’s where carnival was born,” he says, repeating an oft cited claim.

While the origins and relative sizes of various carnivals may be debatable, in Boston, T&T — whose name matches the common shorthand for Trinidad and Tobago — is the reigning king, having won first place in each of the last seven years.

The band, whose members include dancers of different Caribbean nationalities, boasts an army of volunteers who help adjust and repair the elaborate costumes that Phillips says came together after three months of labor.

As the band makes its way up Warren Street, the blaring bass of the sound truck reverberate off the brick-fronted apartment buildings that line the thoroughfare. By the time the band passes the Eliot Street Church, they are accompanied by a mass of revelers, many draped in the red, black and white colors of the Trinidadian flag.

As the deejay shouts, “Jump up, Trinidad,” Trini flags wave in the air. At Intervale Street, eight stern-faced police officers stand guard at the movable steel gates erected to keep the revelers on the sidewalk while the band makes its way to the judging stand.

At the judging stand, Phillips stands in front of the sound truck wearing the red tee shirts issued to his band leaders, gray trousers and construction boots embedded with gold sequins which shimmer in the afternoon sun.

“Take your time,” he exhorts the T&T dancers as they parade before the judges. “Do your thing.”

The area before the judging stand erupts in a riot of color as girls in fuchsia and purple gowns dance ahead of the truck while twirling pink and blue parasols.

Even Caribbean American Carnival Association of Boston President Shirley Shillingford can’t resist getting in on the act, shaking her hips to the soca rhythms as the girls parade by.