Irish Song Lyrics 
from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
William Bloat Traditional 
In a mean abode on the Shankill Road, lived a man named William Bloat And he had a wife, the bane of his life, who always got his goat And one day at dawn, with her nightdress on, he slit her bloody throat 
Now, he was glad he had done what he had as she lay there stiff and still 'Til suddenly awe of the angry law filled his soul with an awful chill And to finish the fun so well begun, he decided himself to kill 
Then he took the sheet from his wifes cold feet, and he twisted it into a rope And he hanged himself from the pantry shelf  'twas an easy end, let's hope With his dying breath and he facing death, he solemnly cursed the Pope 
But the strangest turn of 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 rope was Belfast linen