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Friday, September 25, 2020

The Ratodrome (For El Lobo Blanco)

I’m going to tell you a story
I promise it won’t be boring
Monsieur Lacheur
Lacheur Monsieur

Twas known as The Rat Man
a real gone cat, man
big long nose, lime green eyes
rat hair coat much too big for his size
Rat fur? Fur what? Fur rats!

Busted top hat lined with black rat hair
capped stringy locks which never showed care
necklace round his neck of rodent bones
bracelets of rat skulls as hard as stones
Monsieur Lacheur
Lacheur Monsieur

Walking down the cobblestones his hungry hound
to the roundhouse grindhouse down ground round
sweaty old space filled with men of great wealth
well-kept ladies hungry for a taste of hell

(Isn’t it funny how wealth and hell rhyme? Back to my story)

Welcome to The Ratodrome!

Rat Man steps into the pit with his hungry hound
money changes hands the bell is rung
release the rats release the hound
growling, squeaking, men all shouting cacophonic sounds
Monsieur Lacheur
Lacheur Monsieur

The street vermin race to the circular wall
the hound grabs their necks in his bloody fanged jaws
cracking their heads with his ravenous fangs
bloody rat claws twitching as their intestines go bang!

The noble rich men clutch clammy pale breasts
with their sweaty little hands
mamzelles laugh brashly, acidic champagne
seeping through their glands

The hound races round the circle
grabbing three at a clip
bones crunching to his munching
tearing them apart in his canine championship
Quelle domage quelle fromage quelle damage

Counter jots down how many how quickly
as the mamzelles begin to feel quite sickly
20 dead rats lie twitching in a heap
there’s no damn inheritance waiting for the meek

Monsieur Lacheur gets his fistful of francs
bloody bloody money death has no thanks
that’s all folks c’est terminé for cheap thrills
would you believe the wrong rats were killed

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