She was a widow in Bridlington, she was, was the widow of Brid,
Small and bonny at forty-two,
With eyes of very unsettling blue,
And what she thought she ought to do
She did, she did, she did;
Whatever she thought she ought to do
She did, did the widow of Brid.

"My only darling's dead, he is, and all my children grown;
"The house has emptied, all the love-birds flown.
"In place of widow's weeds I'll let my coal black hair grow long:
"As glossy as a blackbird's wing, as c___y as his song."

She found that she could please herself, she could, could the widow of Brid:
Swim in the sea when she felt hot,
Stay in bed when she did not.
And she began to laugh a lot,
She did, she did, she did,
To sing and dance and laugh a lot,
She did, did the widow of Brid.

And sometimes she would drop the shopping, leave the bed unmade
And sit till evening on the esplanade.
She'd sometimes go to church and call on Jesus by his name.
She fed as any blackbird would, whenever hunger came.

She learned to play the violin, she did, did the widow of Brid,
And Saturday night in a drinking shop
She jumped upon the counter top
And fiddled till the dancers dropped,
She did, she did, she did,
Stomping upon the copper top
She did, did the widow of Brid.

And she was fond of fishing boats and all their beardy crew
And partial to a salty kiss or two.
And some of them would gruffly whisper, "Marry me and stay".
But blackbirds do their singing from a different bush each day.

She had a massive motorbike, she had, had the widow of Brid,
And so she could, when so she wished,
Ride back home early-morningish
With her hair in the air and smelling of fish,
She did, she did, she did,
And every time of a different fish,
She did, did the widow of Brid.

And though she did no harm the neighbours sniffed, as neighbours do,
And day by day a cankerous rancour grew.
And many a pair of front-room curtains twitched and shook with rage,
For she was wild as blackbirds are and they were in a cage.

They came and broke her window panes, they did, of the widow of Brid,
Spat upon her cycle shed,
Dragged her out of her Sunday bed
And cropped her hair and shaved her head,
They did, they did, they did;
They chopped the hair and shaved the head,
They did, of the widow of Brid.

And when her sobs and hiccups stopped she tidied everywhere,
She cleaned the shed, she swept up all the hair.
Some few of them came back in shame to ask her would she stay,
But if you ever startle blackbirds, blackbirds go away.

She sold up house and bought a wig, a wig, did the widow of Brid,
And unrepenting, undeterred,
She thundered off to cause a stir
In poor old b_____ Scarborough,
She did, she did, she did.
"Forget the spit and the window pane.
"b_____ Brid! I'm still the same.
"My hair will always grow again."
It did, it did, it did.
"My hair will always grow again."
It did, it did, did, did, on the widow of Brid.

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