There's a beast in Camden, causing quite a fright,
Breathing fire through the alleys, giving folks a fright,
He's burned down the pub and the local post,
Even singed the last hairs on the heir to the throne's ghost.

But worry not 'bout the prince's crown,
It's the council's coffers that's going down,
This dragon must be a Frenchie, a Black Bloc in disguise,
Torching public treasures, he's got a cheeky side.

Let's kill the dragon, grab your sword and shield,
We'll chase him out of Camden, make the blighter yield,
With a pint in hand and a cheer so loud,
We'll send that beastie flying, make the King so proud.

The King's men gather, from near and far,
Riding on their Vespas, they've come for war,
But the dragon's no fool, he's packing up his hoard,
He's off to Mother Russia, he's growing rather bored.

With an embassy invite, and a new home to toast,
He's found his peace in a land of ice and ghosts,
Now he's got asylum, with vodka on tap,
No more burning Camden, he's escaped the trap.

Let's kill the dragon, grab your sword and shield,
We'll chase him out of Camden, make the blighter yield,
With a pint in hand and a cheer so loud,
We'll send that beastie flying, make the King so proud.

So raise a glass to the knights so bold,
Who sent the dragon packing, his story now told,
From Camden's streets to Russia's frozen shores,
Our dragon's gone, but he'll trouble us no more.