There once was a crooked man
Who walked a crooked mile
He held a crooked knife
And had a crooked smile
He cut a crooked line
With his crooked knife.
He gave that crooked smile
When he took a person’s life
Covered in blood,
He was hung from a crooked tree.
They townspeople got together
And ended his crooked murder spree.
The tree still stands to this day
Next to a crooked mile.
And if your near, late at night,
The last thing you will see is his crooked smile.
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