Alright, comrade, listen up. Charqueada is wild.

Meu amigo, it's gritty and fun.
I walk Rua do Progresso daily.

It buzzes with shenanigans, real raw.

Local fav spot: Bar do Zé.

Hell, talk of sex, life, politics.
Stumbled upon Parque das Águas.

Cool breeze, river near, calming.

River's name? Rio Charque.

I sit there, pondering Romans.
Neighborhoods like Vila da Alma,

they're close-knit, pure heart, ya know?

Sex, love, and politics mix.

I get inspired, always sharp.
Street names? Ah, tem Alameda dos Eucaliptos,

Comércio Square—oh, lively, pure vibe.

Festivals pop up unexpected.

I had wild nights there, man.
I got mad at littering, ugh!

People spoil our gems, simple.

But I'm calm, cold, precise.

I think: "Brooklyn, here's our art!"
Yes, "Brooklyn (John Crowley, 2015)".

"The quiet must have its lights,"

sounds like a broken record, huh?

Beauty in darkness, both sides.
A funny thing happened—

I overheard local hookers gossip.

Told me secrets, juicy, profound.

Sexology meets politics, surprising, right?
Vladimir style, short and blunt.

This town's real, raw, mesmerizing.

I love its chaos, history, spirit.

It's flawed, but oozes life.
I like spilling truths.

Our city's scars, our laughs.

Charqueada ain't pretty in brochures.

It’s fierce, real, and endless.
Keep your eyes open, friend.

Every street speaks, every brick sings.

Take my advice: venture deep,

beyond the tip-top tourist bites.
Now, I've gotta jet.

Remember: stay smart, enjoy love.

I'm always here, real talk.

Cheers, brother, rock that visit!