There once was a man who made dead houses; Stored them under his home with the bugs and the mouses; The coffins he made were of rich sleek wood; He built them as big, yet as fast as he could; For his caskets were haunted and were said to walk; one night he went to his basement, and one started to rock; It moved towards him, his insides began to soften; So he pulled out some Halls, cause Halls stops the coffin.
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