The Mountains of Mourne
Oh, Mary, this London's a wonderful sight,With people here working by day and by night.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 beIn the place where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.
I believe that when writing a wish you expressedAs 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 tops to their dresses at all,
Oh I've seen them me self and you could not in truth,Tell that if they were bound for a ball or a bath.Don't be starting them (such) fashions, now, Mary mo chroíIn the place where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.
There's beautiful girls here, oh never you mind,(With) beautiful shapes nature never designed,Lovely complexions of roses and cream,But let me remark with regard to the same:
But if that of those roses you venture to sip,The colors might all come away on your lip,So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waiting for meIn the place where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.
You remember young Dany McLaren, of course,Well, he is over here with the rest of the force.I saw him one day, as he stood on the Strand,(And he) stopped all the traffic with a wave of his hand.
As we where talking of days that are gone,The whole town of London stood there, looked on.But for all his great powers he's wishful like me,To be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea..