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So this husband came home drunk each night |
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And he thrashed her black and he thrashed her white |
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He thrashed her to within an inch of her life |
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Then he slept like a log, did her husband |
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But as he lay and snored in bed |
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A strange idea came into her head |
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So she went for the needle and she went for the thread |
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And straight to her sleeping husband |
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She started to stitch with a girlish thrill |
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With a woman's art and a seamstress' skill |
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She pinned and tucked with an iron will |
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All around her sleeping husband |
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When her husband awoke with a pain in his head |
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He found he could not move in bed ' |
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Sweet Christ |
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I've lost the use of me legs!' |
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But the wife just smiled at her husband |
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Then she thrashed him black, she thrashed him blue |
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With a frying pan and a colander, too |
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With a rolling pin just a stroke or two |
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A battered and bleeding husband |
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Isn't it true what small can do |
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With a thread and a stitch and a thought or two |
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He's wiped his slate, his boozing's through |
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Goodbye to a drunken husband |
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Kick out the jams, motherfucker! |
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Shhh |
