R.I.P.

This here's the story of a jaunty young fellow

His name was Theodore J. Wigglesworth

A distinguished sort of a chappy Theodore was

Who lived in the small town of Perth

Every morning at the very first light of dawn

Mr. Wigglesworth could usually be found

Sitting on Margaret Higginbotham's front porch

Playing the flute and acting the clown

Rumours had it, that Margaret was betrothed

To the jovial Mr. Archibald Clodsmuir

Mr. Clodsmuir was the popular baker in town

Whose reputation was flawless to be sure

So the story goes, young Theodore was driven

To win the hand of the lovely Miss Higginbotham

Even if it would result in a duel to the finish

With Mr. Clodsmuir, to defend his reputation

The gauntlet was thrown and the very next morn

The two stood back to back on a hill

The countdown began as they walked twenty paces

To determine whose blood would be spilled

They both whirled and fired, two shots rang out

Mr. Wigglesworth slumped to the ground

And sadly, Mr. Clodsmuir also succumbed

Then an unearthly silence, not a sound

So as it turned out, Miss Higginbotham never married

Their spirits still court to this day

She sits by their graveside knitting and signing

“You guys sure screwed up, I must say!”