'-come crashing through the portcullis
all gunked up, tailcoat bloody
and a buccaneer's hook-hand lodged in my tricorn.
Good G_d, man! Why's the moat on fire?
Who released these basilisks?
Pass me my chainsaw trousers!
Let us plunge into these pretenders,
a pox on their leonine features
and offers of fruitful peace!
Would a man who wanted peace
pour caustic soda over his crotch?
Well WATCH THI-'
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