When the wind blows in from Wigan

And the slag-heap stinks profound

Where the moon is dark at midnight

There stalks the wild Tripe Hound

The creature from the black lagoon

Ran off and had a fit

Dracula bit his finger nails

Right down to the quick

When the howls from the Tripe Hound

Echoed round little Leigh

Even Frankenstein’s monster

Trembled at the knee

The beast from fifty fathoms

Dove into the cut

The Exorcist turned to Islam

And Godzilla did his nut

Whilst all around Big-Wigan

The cries and screams rang loud

As the dreaded, snarling Tripe Hound

Strutted rough and proud

But come the hour, as they say

And there will come the man

Eighteen stone of danger

Brave Harry surely can

He whipped out his digestives

Then dunked them in his tea

And fed one to the Tripe Hound

That gazed at him with glee

Bold Harry, an instant hero

Had saved the town of Leigh!

Now he keeps the Wigan Tripe Hound

As his personal guard and pet

Sharing his soggy biscuits

And that’s as good as it gets.