Well I won't. The only good thing has been are so many throw away references to other fantasy/horror et all that counting them has kept me going but now even that's become too BOO-ring. Now these are fun lyrics for horror/fantasy
The Borgias are having an orgy;
There’s a Borgia orgy tonight,
And isn’t it sickening
We’ve run out of Strychnine;
The gravy will have to have ground glass for thickening.
The poison Chianti is terribly scanty
But everything else is all right.
There’s ars’nic mixed in the mock turtle soup.
I’ve hidden an asp in the iced cantaloupe,
And straight Benzedrine in the apricot coupe
At the Borgia orgy tonight.
Our guests are exclusively chosen
From people who give us a pain.
The crème of the joke is the knowledge
That they won’t come here again.
We’ll all be most frightfully hearty
At the Borgia orgy tonight.
For the Duke’s eldest son
There’s a monstrous cream bun
Soaked in hot prussic acid;
It’s all good clean fun.
The tank in the ladies will blow them to Hades
If anyone turns on the light.
The bodies will fall through a trap door below
To the Tiber and drift out to sea on the flow.
We think we can promise a jolly good show
At the Borgia orgy tonight.
We revel in giving a party,
A fete or a fancy dress ball.
There’s always a nice game of bingo
And a good time had by all.
The Borgias are giving an orgy;
There’s a Borgia orgy tonight.
I’ve poison ptomaine that will wrack them with pain.
We’ve nothing to lose and a whole lot to gain.
We’re pushing some people
We know off a steeple;
It should be a wonderful sight.
We’ve bricked up some cousins of ours in a wall;
Their agonized cries won’t disturb us at all
As we sit here sipping our wormwood and gall—
(It’s delicious!)
At the Borgia Orgy tonight.
We’ve got all the nobles of Naples
For the Borgia orgy tonight.
The soup minestrone is frightfully phony,
And laudanum reeks in the stewed macaroni.
We’re feeling no pain when they eat the henbane
In the third tangerine from the right.
When the butler flings open the dining room door
There’s a cunning contraption concealed in the floor;
We wonder who’ll sit on the circular saw
At the Borgia orgy tonight.