Wishing the Scout could have been incinerated
Leaving her the poodles for gorgeous fur coats
As Cruella observed the dogs and took notes
On the style of loving that they did enjoy
But there she was a girl without a boy
She was getting all worked, to her consternation
(Uh, do we really want to think of Cruella and masturbation?)
Let's return to Scout, who loved all his bitches.
<oh, golly, look at that; I guess masturbation does kinda rhyme.>
Let's return to Scout, who loved all his bitches.
Known round the world for satisfying their wishes
Missionary, 69 he knew all the positions
But there was one he loved best, whatever the conditions.
He was a dog after all, and Kicky's dog at that.
Which means aside from da bitches ther were cats, dogs and rats.
Could Scout speak, "any port in a storm", is what he'd utter.
Whereas the bitches would mutter - "Put on more butter",
So he went his merry unthinking way
With a swagger to his strut, his little sashay
When Cruella struck, her nerves now steadied
the mutt freshly beaten, and tortured, and readied
For the surgical strike, from Cruella's sharp little knife
reminded her why she was a called a bad wife
as she steadily moved the blade this way and that
the dog looked at her, and she at her cat
the cat looked at Scout, with a snickering sneer
opened the fridge and pulled out a beer
"mess with me," said the cat and, "you will never...
"...See again, smell again" Scout said 'Whatever!"
He looked at the cat with the deepest disgust
And with a move of the head avoided Cruella's thrust
Scout secured his freedom with a grand jete
Free as an hirondelle in été
You really couldn't see him for dust
Cruella brimmed with anger, frustration, disgust
That damn Scout was a bastard without peer
She turned her attention to an icy beer,
With a pint of shrimps to tempt her palate
she banged on the table her fist like a mallet
and soon it was clear she'd busted some bones.
So she rolled on the floor in a tempest of groans
And swore like a trooper and ground her great teeth
