The Brass Croissant - Tavern song inspired by Warhammer 40k Khorne Chaos Cultists

To continue the Chaos Food Court saga, I wanted to do something a bit different to the oft-quoted 'Khorne Flakes' (though they may make an appearance in the future), so I came up with The Brass Croissant. Welcome to the finest café in the hive. White tablecloths. Crystal glasses. Perfectly layered pastries. And several waiters who are definitely not hiding chain-axes behind the counter. 🥐🩸 “The Brass Croissant” is a 40k tavern song about a suspiciously immaculate artisan café run by Khorne cultists who are trying — very, very badly — to disguise the fact that everything about the place is designed to cause eventual bloodshed. At first, the cakes are magnificent. Then the recipes get worse. Then the opening hours become unpredictable. Then the customers start queueing in a frothing rage because they need one more perfect pastry and the café is randomly closed. Expect elegant piano flourishes, roaring tavern vocals, luxury patisserie, barely concealed violence, furious customers, and the most dangerously refined croissant in the grim darkness of the far future. Perfect for fans of Warhammer 40k parody songs, Khorne cultists, Chaos nonsense, grimdark comedy, tavern music, and artisan bakery-based heresy. The cakes are exquisite. The service is unsettling. The bloodshed is complimentary. 🍺🥐 -- Lyrics -- In the nascent chaos food court, Beside the noodle place, The servants of the Blood God Met with murder in each face. Across the street, the Slaanesh crowd Had pasta full of sin, While Nurgle’s shop sold nugget tubs That made the whole hive grin. A cultist slammed his chainaxe down And roared, “We’ll sell raw meat! A butcher’s shop! A bloody bar With skulls beneath each seat!” But the cultist leader shook her head And gave a cultured sneer: “No. We’ll be superlative The blood comes later, dear.” Welcome to the Brass Croissant, Where the tablecloths are white, The forks are placed precisely And the rage is out of sight. At the Brass Croissant, We’ve delicacies indeed Soon you’ll need a fix each day What a shame if favourite recipes are tweaked... No axes in the window, No gory mess out front Just culture on a knife-edge At the Brass Croissant! The floor was swept and shining, The menu crisp and clean, The napkins folded into birds That somehow looked serene. They served up cakes on silver trays, And pastries filled with cream The most delicious morsels That the Hive had ever seen “No screaming?” muttered Kravak. “No cleavers?” muttered Drel. The leader said, “These flawless bites Will shortly summon hell! (Repeat Chorus) For forty days the food was grand, The coffee rich and dark, The flaky little pastries Put a songbird in each heart. The nobles came from upper spires, The workers spent their pay, The priests concocted rituals With ‘The Emperor’s Soufflé ’ The queues grew long by sunrise, The bookings stretched for weeks, The hive dreamed nightly of the soup, The custard, and the leeks. And when the cultists saw the joy, They cried, “We’ve lost the plot!” But the leader smiled gently: “Good. Now... ruin the lot.” The first crime was the biscuits: Once divine, now slightly dry. The second was the gravy, Far too thin, no one knew why. They changed the chairs to wobble, Moved bookings by mistake, They served the tea lukewarm at best And forgot a birthday cake. Then worst of all, one Monday, Without warning, sign, or clue, The café simply didn’t open A riot formed by two The cultists sniffed the air, And felt their spirits rise. Their champion said “You smell that? That’s murder in disguise!” The final straw was pudding, A legendary crème brûlée, Advertised for eight weeks Then taken off one day. A thousand diners saw the board Where once its name had shon, And every mind in every skull Just quietly went wrong. One screamed, “I booked in winter!” One yelled, “For shame! For shame!” One priest shouted, “This is heresy Unworthy of His name!” The first chair flew at noon exactly, Then a fork, then someone’s head, And by the time the teapot smashed, The whole main street was red! Welcome to the Brass Croissant, Now the avenue is red, And the brunch queue’s formed a warband With a patron’s severed head. At the Brass Croissant, Hear the starving patrons say: “We came along for pudding, But now the only option’s RAGE!” New axes in the window, A gory mess out front The hive’s now on the knife-point Of the Brass Croissant! ⚠️ Disclaimer: This song is a fan-made parody and is not associated with Games Workshop. All Warhammer 40K references belong to their rightful owners. This content is for satirical and entertainment purposes only. #Tavernhammer #Warhammer40k #TheBrassCroissant #KhornateCafe #Khorne #Chaos40k #40kParody #WarhammerParody #TavernSong #GrimdarkComedy