Napoleon Poem by Sheena Blackhall

With a high IQ, but short on height
Three hours was all that he slept at night
He liked his women to smell quite ripe
His piles were huge…he'd the tummy gripe
And it's said that arsenic caused his death
And bad teeth gave him terrible breath

When his captors were sure that Boney was dead
They laid him out and they shaved his head
Each hair was sold as a souvenir
They cut off his dongle as well poor dear
His tootle was tiny and useless in bed
It resembled a seahorse rumours said

In a silver vase his heart went plop
And his stomach was kept in a pepper pot
His intestines, sent for surgeons to view
Blew up with a bomb in WW2

And so alas, poor Bonaparte
Was robbed of everything, poor little fart
Except for his toes, his hands, his feet
Which were, I believe, incredibly neat