Well son oh son what's the matter, does she lie or does she flatter?
Does she have a chattering jaw, on with Will the Weaver-o?
Well she donít lie and she donít flatter, she donít scold and she donít flatter
But she's got a chattering jaw, on with Will the Weaver-o
Well son o son go home and love her, do not find a fault above her
But if she does not do well, pick up a stick and beat her well.
So he went home and a friend he met him, thus he spoke just to fret him
Saw your wife awhile ago, on with Will the Weaver-o.
So he went home in a devil of a wonder, rapped on the door just like thunder
Who is that his wife she cried, that's my husband you better hide.
So up the chimney Will he ventured, through the door her husband entered
Searching all the walls around but not a soul could be found.
So he sat down by the fireside weeping, till up the chimney he got to peeping
And there he spied the wretched soul sitting on a pot-rack pole
So he build all around him fire just to suit his own desire
His wife she cried with a pretty good will don't do that the man you'll kill
So he put on a little more fuel, his wife she cried my love why do you
Take him down and spare his life if you want me to be your lovin' wife
So he reached up and down he fetched him, like a raccoon dog he catched him
Where he was white he beat him red, made poor Weaver wish he was dead
Then he went home and his wife she met him, up with a stick and down she set him
Where he was red she beat him blue and every word of this is true.
Traditional, adapted and arranged by Derroll Adams
© 2012 www.derrolladams.org