In a mean abode
On the Shankill road
Lived a man named William Bloat
He had a wife
She was the bane of his life
For she always got his goat
Til one day at dawn
With his night shirt on
He slit her wrinkled throat

Now he was glad
He had done what he had
As she lay there stiff and still
Til sudden awe
Of the angry law
Filled his soul with a fearful chill
So to finish the fun
So well begun
He decided himself to kill

So he took the sheet
From his wife's cold feet
And he twisted it into a rope
Then he hanged himself
From the pantry shelf
It was an easy end let's hope
With his dying breath
While facing death
He solemnly cursed the pope

Now the strangest turn
Of this whole concern
Well, is only just beginning
While he went to hell
His wife got well
Yeah, she still alive and sinnin'
For the razor blade
Was German made
But the rope was Belfast linen