| How the story rolls | |
| Magic's taught and history's told | |
| A glory hole | |
| Which through gazed her eyes of gold | |
| Those veins run cold | |
| Mystery's wife evades her soul | |
| Scaring to and fro | |
| Tearing through the snow | |
| As she makes her darling coat | |
| Hoarding all the shawls | |
| Now her evil highness rose | |
| Kind of like Shakespearean prose | |
| Without the rose | |
| Avid as she sows | |
| Cruella grows | |
| Horace and Jasper stole | |
| So let the horror flow | |
| Black and white in hair | |
| Elegantly gaunt in frame | |
| A boney flare | |
| Which christened Cruel with creepy grace | |
| Always smokey air | |
| Circling one Lurch-Hepburn face | |
| In her head which filled the space | |
| Was the one hellacious taste | |
| As she aims her fate | |
| Nothing flees her sore embrace | |
| As the biggest mistake that Cruel ever made | |
| Was when she left her cave and started to reign | |
| As the love for her fades | |
| Our feelings won't change | |
| So my darling Cruella | |
| We see through the grey | |
| In her cold glare | |
| Loveliest and rare | |
| Frightened you'll soon wear | |
| And this elegantly haunting is so fair | |
| There's no reason to part from her cold lair | |
| She has all of the loveliest and rare | |
| Things which frighten at first | |
| But she'll soon wear | |
| She's a regional spark from this nowhere | |
| And this elegant loveliness so fair | |
| Taking strolls through the dark by the moon's glare | |
| As she listens for barks in the night air | |
| Always searching for marks on the white hair | |
| Cruel, you're so fair |
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