There’s bound to be a row

I'm a poor, unlucky married man, I've got an awful wife,
To please her I do all I can, but still she plagues my life. 
If I do everything that's right, she'll find a fault somehow,
And if not in at eight each night, there's bound to be a row. 

There's bound to be a row, bound to be a row; 
Do all in life to please my wife, yet there's bound to be a row. 

She makes me do the household work when I come home at night; 
If I cough or sneeze when going to bed, of course, that, is not right. 
If she should wake the young ones up, with rage she'll storm, I vow, 
And if I snore too hard for her, why, there's bound to be a row.

She wakes me early every morn in an awful cruel way; 
She kicks me round about the room, yet not a sentence dare I say. 
I have to wash my stockings, my pants and shirts, I vow. 
And if I don't wash for her as well, there's bound to be a row. 

And when I'm paid my wages, after working hard all week, 
I give her every farthing up, and then she's got the cheek 
To give me two pence for myself, and for that I have to bow;
But if I spend it all at once, there's bound to be a row