the stage. "Rydym ni’n hoffi rap!" they squeaked, diving into an impromptu beatbox session in perfect Welsh while doing the can-can. "Gallwch chi rapio mewn trois langues? Dim siawns, mon ami!" MC Daffodil Rhymes laid down bars so hot they melted the quantum cheese dimension. "Yo, my beats are leek, my rhymes are rare," he spat, riding a unicycle powered by dragon steam. "Vous pensez que vous êtes prêt pour ca?" he sneered, flipping his scarf over his shoulder. With a flick of his leek, he summoned a holographic harpist named Madame Moutarde to play the Chanson de Gruyere, a tune so powerful it caused a black