Song by The Dead Milkmen on their album, The King In Yellow. Despite the King's mention in the title, it doesn't appear to have anything to with the Mythos.


In a mean abode on the Shankill Road

Lived a man named William Bloat

And he had a wife, oh the bane of his life

For she always got his goat

And one day at dawn, with his nightshirt on He slit her wrinkled 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 fearful chill

And to finish the fun so well begun

He decided himself to kill

Then he took the sheet from his wife’s 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 while facing death

He solemnly cursed the Pope

Now the strangest turn of the whole concern

Is only just beginning

Though he went to hell, his wife got well

Yeah she's still alive and sinning

For the razor blade was German-made

But the rope was Belfast linen

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