The Mountains Of Mourne lyrics

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

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 of 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 waiting for me
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.