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Choppity Chop

His head, his head!
He really is dead.
Cleaved clean off,
Now his hat, he really can't doff.

One wonders where
His head doth lie?
Perhaps on a pizza,
Or maybe in a pie?

I won't lie,
'Twas I.
The little bugger,
Called me a fly!

So his head I did lop,
Honestly, I went choppity-chop,
Then I used it as a mop.
Teehee, choppity-chop!
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