AN ORGY AT THE BORGIAS

There’s nothing like an orgy at the Borgias,
They’re decadent, stylish and gorgeous,
While the Vatican caterers to God’s senior priest
Never fail to provide a most memorable feast.
There’s bumble bee dip and mousse of mouse,
And lip of hare and tongue of grouse,
Rib Eye of Papal Bull au jus,
And budgerigar soup and cockatoo stew.
Lamb’s hearts stuffed with sturgeon’s eggs
And crumbed and battered terrapins’ legs.
Red wine from France and sunny Spain
Gushing from fountains like tropical rain.
The white wine’s one of Latium’s best;
It’s that Vatican favourite, ‘Est Est Est’.

A conga line of Cardinals is cutting a rug
While a bevy of doxies give their cassocks a tug.
Two Legates are posing in crutchless hose
Raising a cheer when they touch their toes.

The Pope’s daughter, Lucretia, is up to her tricks,
Doing handstands and dancing without any knicks
And looking quite absolutely divine
As she seasons with poison her husband’s white wine.

A game called Excommunication
Involves sodomy and casual fornication.
It’s performed in groups of threes and fours
On an intriguing stage of revolving doors.

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