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