Bob got sliced
and diced
and chopped
and his life was quickly stopped.
I don't know what thing him enticed
to chase after a group of mice.
But that he did, the silly fool,
thinking it would make him cool.
He ran under a gleaming axe;
not just one, but stacks of packs!
He hit a shelf, and down they came,
like a storm of hard, sharp, rain.
He didn't mean to, you have to see,
he did it inadvertently.
It was a daft and dangerous act,
but it occurred, and that's a fact.
Perhaps it's because he was so fat,
from eating enough to feed a cat.
He'd eat enough in every day
to feed said cat for all of May!
This wasn't how I thought he'd die,
chopped to pieces like a pie.
I thought heart disease would get him first,
or that his stomach perhaps would burst.
His grave took me a while to dig,
because, you see, it was so big.
Six feet long by twelve feet wide;
enough to fit a man and bride.
I'm struggling now to find a rhyme,
and I'm running out of time,
And so I'll end how I began
to tell you of this foolish man:
Bob got sliced
and diced
and chopped
in B&Q, the DIY shop!