I haven't posted any Saturday night poetry in a while, but I'm in the mood to do so tonight.  Technically I guess this isn't a poem because it's actually lyrics to a song, but it'll do.

I like to sing this softly to myself sometimes just to disturb people.
When I come down from Liverpool, the day was dull and bleak;
I met an old seafarin' man, his name was Jack McTeague.
He told to me a story about a robber mean,
Who lived in a cave on the Scottish coast, and his name was Sawney Beane.

'Twas in the reign of Jolly James, in 1424,
His incestuously inbred family patrolled the Galloway shore.
They robbed the innocent travelers, but worse than that they did,
For they feasted on roasted, murdered men, and then their bones they hid.

So good King James, he heard of this, and he sent 400 men.
On hooks in the cave they found human flesh, and they took the family in.
The women they burned in the public square, but not before they'd seen
The men bleeding to death with no hands and feet, with their leader Sawney Beane.
Here's the Wikipedia entry on Sawney Beane.