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! Rat-a-tat-rat
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