Killer Queen Tea
Killer Queen Tea
“Ms. Havisham, would you like some tea?”
“Oh yes, my Darling, pretty please.”
“All right then. One lump or two?”
“Whatever Deary, you can choose!”
“It’s your tea Madam, take your pick.”
“It doesn’t matter, tis a small fix.”
Ms. Havisham cares for nothing these days
Except gossip and rumors and petty betrays.
She’s pretty and polished, but cowers within.
We wonder her motives and chances of sin.
Very unlikely, she’s a Cry-Baby square.
She hurts all her friends with evil black stares.
But you’d never know, and you’d never guess
What she’ll designate as her next awful mess.
“Ms. Havisham dear, would you prefer the cream?”
“Whatever, my Love, whatever you dream!”
“But my Lady, my queen, you’re drinking the tea.”
“I know my sweet, matters not to me!”
A shrug and a smile and a wink of the eye
To show she’s polite and not needy or rye.
Oh, but we know far better that she’s no queen.
Royalty tossed her on out in the streets.
They found her gunpowder and turpentine
In the nightstand drawer,
Dynamite with a lazerbeam
Under the bedroom floor.
We all know so well she’s a killer queen,
But no one quite knows just what she means.
“Tell me Mrs. Caulfield, how is your son?
Has he flunked out of school?
Is he still on the run?
And tell me Miss Murder, how was this week?
And abortion so soon, and you’re still on your feet?
My word, woman, go home, take a rest,
And try to get over you’re god-awful mess.
Oh, Mrs. Clinton, my friend, saw you’re husband last week.
He was with a young woman, licking her teets.
Not proper behavior, if I say so myself,
But with your unsuited figure,
The man needs some help!
Don’t worry, my dears, I won’t tell a soul
So long as the club gives me first at the polls.”
So there you have it my friends and my peers.
She’s quite a theatrical product of fears.
She has the mind to put all men into tears,
So they do as she says and she rules all the gears.
She’s a killer queen, if I say so myself,
But nobody loves her and no one will help.
Cheers to a woman who never quite lived.
Hope she dies young at the hand of some kid.
When she’s six feet under, no one will care,
So to all the Ms. Havishams of the world, beware.
("Killer Queen" song by Queen)
“Ms. Havisham, would you like some tea?”
“Oh yes, my Darling, pretty please.”
“All right then. One lump or two?”
“Whatever Deary, you can choose!”
“It’s your tea Madam, take your pick.”
“It doesn’t matter, tis a small fix.”
Ms. Havisham cares for nothing these days
Except gossip and rumors and petty betrays.
She’s pretty and polished, but cowers within.
We wonder her motives and chances of sin.
Very unlikely, she’s a Cry-Baby square.
She hurts all her friends with evil black stares.
But you’d never know, and you’d never guess
What she’ll designate as her next awful mess.
“Ms. Havisham dear, would you prefer the cream?”
“Whatever, my Love, whatever you dream!”
“But my Lady, my queen, you’re drinking the tea.”
“I know my sweet, matters not to me!”
A shrug and a smile and a wink of the eye
To show she’s polite and not needy or rye.
Oh, but we know far better that she’s no queen.
Royalty tossed her on out in the streets.
They found her gunpowder and turpentine
In the nightstand drawer,
Dynamite with a lazerbeam
Under the bedroom floor.
We all know so well she’s a killer queen,
But no one quite knows just what she means.
“Tell me Mrs. Caulfield, how is your son?
Has he flunked out of school?
Is he still on the run?
And tell me Miss Murder, how was this week?
And abortion so soon, and you’re still on your feet?
My word, woman, go home, take a rest,
And try to get over you’re god-awful mess.
Oh, Mrs. Clinton, my friend, saw you’re husband last week.
He was with a young woman, licking her teets.
Not proper behavior, if I say so myself,
But with your unsuited figure,
The man needs some help!
Don’t worry, my dears, I won’t tell a soul
So long as the club gives me first at the polls.”
So there you have it my friends and my peers.
She’s quite a theatrical product of fears.
She has the mind to put all men into tears,
So they do as she says and she rules all the gears.
She’s a killer queen, if I say so myself,
But nobody loves her and no one will help.
Cheers to a woman who never quite lived.
Hope she dies young at the hand of some kid.
When she’s six feet under, no one will care,
So to all the Ms. Havishams of the world, beware.
("Killer Queen" song by Queen)