There's a little spider, somewhere in the room.
I need to get it out, so I go to fetch a broom.
But in the time it takes, to arm myself for war,
The bloomin' thing escapes, through the other door.

I'm on a sofa safari, an adventure in my room.
With my floppy hat, and my not so floppy broom.
It scurries this way and that way, along the curtain rail.
But whichever way it turns, I'm right there on its tail.

I think I'm gaining ground, as it's cornered in the hall.
I whack it really hard, but it rushes up the wall.
There's no way I'm giving in, to such a little brute.
So I leave it where it is, and go back for a boot.

There's a spider on the wall, a boot in my right hand.
I deal it a heavy blow, but I just can't understand.
A brick's out of the wall, but the spider is OK.
The bloomin' thing survives, to fight another day.

So no more Mr nice guy, it is time for the shotgun.
Got him right between the eyes, with barrel number one.
Shot his hairy little head, with barrel number two.
But it scurries off away, what do I have to do?

A stick of Dynamite destroys the house with awful sound.
The spider is no more, it's dead there on the ground.
I start a celebration as the dust clears from the air.
But stop a moment later, all I've left is one small chair.

There's no more little spider, but the house is all in ruins.
Still I never gave in, so all in all, it's me that wins!