A crab, I’m told, will not bite,
Or poison you just for spite;
Won’t lie in wait beneath a stone,
Until one morning, out alone,
You poke a finger, like a fool,
Into an innocent looking pool.
Won’t grab your hand
And drag you off across the sand,
Down into the bottom of the sea
To eat you dressed for Sunday tea.
A crab, I’m told, is a bundle of fun;
With claws like that, pull the other one.