Who Kicked The Bucket?

This is another great little suggestion from my dear little friend (my DLF, if you get the quote) and I hope you all enjoy it!

There had been a murder
In that humble abode.
A horrid blood-splatter
On the place down the road.
There was the cold body,
Lying limp in the dirt.
A woman who’s greasy
Hands still clutched at her skirt.
No calls, no ID
No shoes; nobody
Could figure who did it
And who kicked the bucket.
It was a white veined scar
On the family name.
T’was a simple blood spar
That had doomed the poor dame.
There was evidence but
It was crude and quite strange.
They were in such a rut
And there had to be change.
No shoes and no proof;
Life gone with a poof! 
No one knew who did it;
And who kicked the bucket.
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