The Mountains of Mourne

Oh, Mary, this London's a wonderful sight
With the 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 be
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea

I believe that when writing a wish you expressed
As to how the fine ladies in London were dressed
Well, if you believe me, when asked to a ball
They don't wear no top to their dresses at all

Oh, I've seen them myself and you could not in truth
Say if they were bound for a ball or a bath
Don't be startin' them fashions now, Mary Macree
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea

You remember young Peter O'Loughlin, of course
Well, he's over here now at the head of the force
I met him today, I was crossing the Strand
And he stopped all the traffic with one wave of his hand

And as we were talking of days that are gone
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 O'Loughlin remarked with regard to the saying

That if at 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 waitin' for me
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea