This little pixie went to market,
This little pixie stayed at home,
This little pixie had roast meat,
And this little pixie had none.
And this twisted little pixie, sat alone in his police cell, couldn’t stop giggling hysterically.
Wee, wee, wee, wee, wee!
All his older brothers were dead. The eldest was in pies; the next in the cold, damp soil beneath the floorboards. He had tied the twins up... cut parts off one, seasoned the meat with salt and a slow poison, then cooked it and fed it to the other.
Never would he be ‘little piggy’ again.