Lyrics:

There was a woman and she lived on her own,
Slaved on her own and skivvied on her own,
She'd two little boys and two little girls --
She lived all alone with her husband.

He was a hunk of a man
A chunk of a man and a drunk of a man,
A hunk of a drunken skunk of a man
Such a boozy, bruising, bully of a husband.

For when he'd come home drunk at night,
He'd thrash her black and thrash her white;
Thrashed her to within an inch of her life,
And snored all night like a big drunken husband.

One night she gathered her tears all round her shame
Covered up the bruise and cried with the pain,
You'll not do that ever again,
I'll not live anymore with a drunk of a husband.

And that night as he lay drunk in bed,
The strangest thought came to her head,
She took the needle and the thread,
And went straight in to her sleeping husband.

She started to stitch with a girlish thrill
With a woman's eye and a seamstress' skill,
She bibbed and tucked with an iron will,
A she stitched all round her sleeping husband.

The top sheet, the bottom sheet, too,
The blanket stitched to the mattress through,
She bibbed and tucked the whole night through
Waiting for the dawn and her husband.

Solo (hyup!)

He awoke with a pain in his head,
He found that he could not move in bed,
Sweet God in Heaven, have I lost me legs!
She just sat and smiled at her husband.

In her hand she held the frying pan
With a flutter in her heart she flew at him;
He could not move he cried, God damn!
Don't you swear at me ya dirty husband.'

She beat him black, she beat him blue,
With the frying pan and the colander too,
With the rolling pin a stroke or two
Such a battered and repenting husband.

'If you ever come home drunk again,
I'll stitch you up and sew you in,
Then I'll pack my bag and I'll be gone,
I'll not live with a drunk of a husband.'

Isn't it true what a wife can do
With a needle, thread and a stitch or two?
He's wiped his slate and his boozin's through
She don't live anymore with a drunken husband.