THE BALLAD OF WILLIAM BLOAT (Raymond Calvert) 
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 coul' 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. 
From Songs of Belfast, Hammond  

Irish Song Lyrics 
from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk