| Oh, Mary, this London's a wonderful sight With people all working by day and by night Sure they don't sow potatoes, nor barley, nor wheat But there's gangs of them digging for gold in the street At least when I asked them that's what I was told So I just took a hand at this digging for gold But for all that I found there I might as well be Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea I believe that when writing a wish you expressed As to know how the fine ladies in London were dressed Well if you'll believe me, when asked to a ball They don't wear no top to their dresses at all Oh I've seen them meself and you could not in truth Say that if they were bound for a ball or a bath Don't be starting such fashions, now, Mary mo chroí Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea You remember young Peter O'Loughlin, of course Well, now he is here at the head of the force I met him today, I was crossing the Strand And he stopped the whole street with a wave of his hand And there we stood talkin' of days that are gone While the whole population of London looked on But for all these great powers he's wishful like me To be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea There's beautiful girls here, oh never you mind With beautiful shapes nature never designed And lovely complexions all roses and cream But let me remark with regard to the same: That if of those roses you venture to sip The colours might all come away on your lip So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waiting for me In the place where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea |
