To the tune of The Minstrel Boy (2010ish)
The bastard Boy to the fridge has gone
(In the depths of Hell we found him)
His father’s cheese he has siezed upon,
And the crumbs lie all around him.
Off to bed, to despoil it there,
With all his clan distracted:
One round of mashed and mangled camembert,
Upon the writing desk compacted.
The Boy shall fall! And his father’s ire
Shall not cease, although he tremble!
His soul shall flicker in the righteous fire,
And his body disassemble!
And yet… he seems so small and sweet,
For all his devastation…
Perhaps more cheese may yet be found to eat,
And shared, without frustration.