My girlfriend commented once after driving into Denton down my street, Gay Street, that there seemed to be a lot of crooked little houses.
And it reminded me of the poem.
There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile.
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile.
He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.