Pus-sy sits be-side the fire. How can she be fair?
In walks a lit-tle dog-gy, Pus-sy, are you there?
Oh, the rus-ty, dus-ty, rus-ty mill-er.
I’ll not change my wife for gold or sill-er.
There was a crook-ed man, and he went a crook-ed mile,
And he found a crook-ed six-pence a-gainst a crook-ed stile;
He bought a crook-ed cat, which caught a crook-ed mouse,
And they all liv-ed to-ge-ther in a lit-tle crook-ed house.