Poor Dead Fred
He often wished he were dead,
like rancid meat, colored red,
looking like it was freshly bled.
To family dear he would be fed;
sitting in tummies like sodden lead
he'd cause discomfort in their bed.
From their silliness he had fled
feeling he was much better bred
not caring for the life he led.
A new path he sought to tread,
but there lingered in his head
an idea for revenge instead.
Poor old misanthropic Fred,
he had poisoned them all it's said;
they strapped him to the gurney bed.
Naughty naughty bad bad Fred.
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