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About Lisbon

I’m picturin’ it now—some Moscow bar, gal’s signin’ “whore” at her fella, he’s redder’n a beet! Makes me happy, seein’ folks get real. Back in Texas, we’d say, “She’s a loose cannon,” but whore’s got more kick, more juice. Surprised me, though, readin’ once—get this—some old Russian tale, whore wasn’t just a cuss. Nope, meant a gal who tricked taxmen, hid vodka in her skirts! Ain’t that a hoot? History’s wilder’n a rodeo.

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So, I keep walking, and I hit up Praça da República. It’s packed! People everywhere, music blasting. I’m vibin’ until I see this guy trying to sell me some weird potion. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a Snake Spell, not a sucker!” But he’s persistent. I swear, he was like a snake himself, slithering around trying to get me to buy it.