Oh Mary, this Londons a wonderful sight,
With people here workin by day and by night.
They dont sow potatoes, nor barley, nor wheat,
But theres gangs of em diggin for gold in the street.
At least when I asked them, thats what I was told,
So I just took a hand at this diggin for gold,
But for all that I found there I might as well be
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.
Ive seen Englands king from the top of a bus
And Ive never known him, but he means to know us.
And tho by the Saxon we once were oppressed,
Still I cheered, God forgive me, I cheered with the rest.
And now that hes visited Erins green shore
Well be much better friends than weve been heretofore
When weve got all we want, were as quiet as can be
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.
You remember young Peter OLaughlin, of course?
Well, now he is here at the head of the force.
I met him today while crossing the Strand,
And he stopped the whole street with one wave of his hand!
And as we stood talking of days that are gone,
The whole population of London looked on!
But for all his great powers, hes wishful like me
To be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.
I believe that when writin, a wish you expressed
As to how the fine ladies in London were dressed.
Well, if youll believe me, when asked to a ball,
They dont wear no tops to their dresses at all!
Oh, Ive seen them meself, and you could not in truth
Tell if they were bound for a ball or a bath!
Dont be startin them fashions, now, Mary McCree,
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.
Theres 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 at those roses you venture to sip,
The colours might all come away on your lip!
So Ill wait for the wild rose thats waitin for me
In the place where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.
