Ballad of William Bloat

In a mean abode on the Skankill Road
Lived a man named William Bloat
He had a wife, the curse of his life
Who continually got his goat
So one day at dawn, with her nightdress on
He cut her bloody throat

With a razor gash he settled her hash
Oh never was crime so quick
But the drip drip drip on the pillowslip'
Of her lifeblood made him sick
And the pool of gore on the bedroom floor
Grew clotted and cold and thick

And yet he was glad he had done what he had
When she lay there stiff and still
But a sudden awe of the angry law
Struck his heart with an icy chill
So to finish the fun so well begun
He resolved himself to kill

He took the sheet from the wife's cold feet
And twisted it into a rope
And he hanged himself from the pantry shelf
'Twas an easy end, let's hope
In the face of death with his latest breath
He solemnly cursed the Pope

But the strangest turn to the whole concern
Is only just beginning
He went to Hell but his wife got well
And she's still alive and sinning
For the razor blade was German made
But the sheet was Belfast linen