Tales From the Domestic Idyll

There was a little man
And he had a little wife
And she soon became the bane
Of his life life life

She wouldn't let him drink
She wouldn't let him play
The only thing she offered him
Was strife strife strife

So one fine day
In the merry month of May
He took it on himself
His wife to kill kill kill

Well he hummed an' he hahhed
An' he ooed an' he aahhed
Should he do her with a knife
Or with a pill pill pill

In the end he took a pan
From the paltry pantry shelf
And he dealt her such a blow
No good for health health health

And he watched as she keeled
Kneeled and weaved, reeled and ran
Staggered out of the house
With little stealth stealth stealth

Now they say that the wind
In a bitter twist of fate
Hates and haunts our little chap
Each night in bed bed bed

As his wife's acrid voice
Foaming curses of her choice
Floating on the breeze makes him wish
He were dead dead dead




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