Crooked Cane

He was a mean old man
He carried a crooked cane
He walked along the boulevard
To his house on Cripple Lane
He had two dogs, a cat
A one-eyed parrot named Jake
He had a wife, seven children
They say he drowned them in the lake
At night he would sleep with his eyes open
And a hand on his gun
People wanted to kill him
For what they think he had done
His dreams would take him
Back to that day at the lake
Where his wife and seven children
They met their fate
One night he went walking
To the house of red lights
There he met a gang of vigilantes
Who were looking for a fight
They pulled out their chains
Clubs, guns and their knives
They beat him and shot him and stabbed him
And left him to there to die
He patched himself up
With brown paper and glue
He looked like a monkey
That had escaped from the zoo
So he wore a mask
To cover up his scarred face
And tied up the brown paper
With ribbons and lace
For years he wandered
Through the deserts and plains
Through an eye of a storm
Through the snow and the rain
The wind tore at the paper
That kept his wounds good
Then his leg turned green
So he replaced it with wood
He made himself a cane
From a tree in Death Valley
He hunted high and low
For those who left him dead in the alley
He searched for them in ghost towns
And ghettoes, he didn't stop
Resisted arrest for killing a skunk
Had a fight, killed the cop
Carved the skull of the cop
To fit his crooked cane
Wore his teeth around his neck
And tied them up with his veins
Took his clothes, his gun
His car and his life
Took his wife and seven children
And slit their throats with a knife