The Mountains O' 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 diggin'
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
diggin' for gold
But for all that I found there I might as well be where the Mountains O’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’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 startin' them fashions, now, Mary McCree, where the Mountains O’Mourne
sweep 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 at 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 waitin' for me in the place where the
dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea