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'll 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 starting them fashions now, Mary McCree

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

As we were talking of days that are gone

The whole population of London looked on

But for all those 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 same:

That if at those roses you venture to sip

The colours might all come away on your lips

So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waiting for me

Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down

to the sea