Louis XIV Loved His Legs

Well, Louis XIV loved his legs
He got a painting of himself done for his grandson’s birthday
But when he saw himself dressed in them pearly-white tights
He said, “Ooh that painting’s gotta be mine”

And Louis XIV had a maid
Aesthetically speaking, she had made the grade
But when she was winking at him with them working-class eyes
He was busy rubbing lotion in his thighs

Champagne bubblin’, Chardonnay
The honeys were all about the Crème Brule
There’s Monsieur Moliere and Monsieur Le Croix
Chatting while their mistresses surround the snuff box
Well, from Catholic mass to Versailles’ walls
You could hear the Sun King shouting “Le etat ce moi”
And in the Bastille, where the prisoners roost
The shackled men were whispering, “se n’est pas juste”

Well, Louis XIV had some friends
Well, actually you couldn’t really call them friends
They all wore wigs and were greedy as hell
Better keep them drunk so that they don’t rebel

Boogie woogie woogie woogie woogie wa woo
Louis loved to dance and you know it’s true
In his fancy pants, always center stage
Everyone was forced to look his way
And applaud him as he fucked up his ballet

Well, the jealous aristocracy, the poor and disaffected peasantry
Increasingly controlling, isolated monarchy
And the upstart bourgeoisie
All these sweet potatoes in one big pie
And Louis’ thighs, they was lookin’ fine
And the guillotine, like you’ve never seen
It was just a matter of time

And oh! How the blood
Pisses and mixes with mud
And the crimson puddle sips
Drips from Antoinette’s lips

And how our bellies groan
From the smashing and mashing of bone
But there’s still is nothing to eat
Nothing except human meat

Well, the French Revolutionaries loved their heads
But chopping off too many made one hell of a mess
When Napoleon Bonaparte took control
Some wondered why it happened at all

In a battlefield in Cairo, near the emperor’s camp
The generals were sleeping and he lit his lamp
Though they felt like jelly and smelt like eggs
Napoleon was looking at his legs