The Twisted Tale of Sir Teddy 'Tufty' Pates Q.C.

Of all the twisted tales I know,
Here is one that goes to show,
That whether you are rich or poor,
You really can't escape the law.
Sir Teddy ‘Tufty’ Bertrand Pates,
And his gang of magistrates,
Liked to go, when day was done,
And have themselves a little fun.

A round of golf and glass of gin,
A visit to a members' gym,
Is maybe what you might surmise,
Would keep their minds relaxed and wise,
But in truth, these beastly rotters
Liked to feast on human trotters!
They'd put them in a giant stew,
That, and other bits of you!

They ran a very private club,
At which they served up human grub,
Random capture, practiced nightly
Ensured their meat was always sprightly
Then like lobsters, boiled screaming,
In a mighty cauldron, steaming.
'Pleased to eat you' Teddy quips,
As he smiles and licks his lips!

They really don't discriminate,
About who ends up on their plate,
Lords and ladies, dustmen, teachers,
Prostitutes and Catholic preachers,
Famous faces you'd once see,
Every week on your TV...
Cyril Fletcher? Brian Walden?
Ended up in Teddy's Cauldron!

Very little went to waste,
And though this must sound quite debased,
Teddy and his gang made sure,
Left-over parts would serve the law.
Their wigs were thatched with precious care,
From giant stocks of human hair,
They ruled from their judicial thrones
With gavels carved from human bones.

Continued: Part 2