King Rat was a bald and rather troubled creature,
His face had warts that was one feature.
His eyesight was poor he had trouble to see,
Something that thankfully doesn’t afflict me.
His ears were big his nose was long,
His backbone was indeed not very strong.
For whenever he faced a problem he always ran,
This was a rather pathetic old man.
It got so bad he ended up alone,
No one to turn to just his mirror to moan.
There was however something else he had,
Lots of money that drove him rather mad.
Mad because he became so insecure,
And for this my friends there is no cure.
His love of money knew no bounds,
He had a nose for it like a hound.
His talent for it was quite startling,
His desire however was disheartening.
For what is money when you have no friends,
No one to be with no reason to spend?
Indeed he shunned those around,
Forcing him to live underground.
And this is where he remains,
Decrepit, alone in much pain.
Sharing his life with Baccarat,
Crystal, clothes an expensive car.
Covering face with a tilted hat,
The unfortunate life of King Rat.
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In Maputo I am known for my love of tinned tuna.