puissant: "Croeso i’r cynghanedd, bois bach! Ça va chauffer ici!" He rode in on a golden dragon wearing a flat cap and Adidas trainers. Gloop-zap! MC Daffodil laughed. "Ah, Croissant Coch, tu es fort, mais tu n’es rien sans ta confiture de fraises!" He pulled out a leek-powered synth harp. His rhymes ricocheted across the galaxy, causing spontaneous tap-dancing in the garbonzo echo chamber, jellyfish algorithms spritzed toothpaste onto sideways pancakes made entirely of pickled herring. "His flow is tighter than a dragon's nostrils on a trampoline made of crystallized rainwater while rapping backup in fluent Klingon. Snizzle-thwack! The battle escalated when MC