Crab Poem

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.
The crab, I’m told, is a bundle of fun.
With claws like that? Pull the other one!

As recited by Roger McGough on QI

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