The Mountains of Mourne
The Mountains of Mourne
Oh, Mary, this London’s a wonderful sight,
With people all working by day and by night.
Sure, 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 are 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 if they were bound for a ball or a bath.
Don’t be starting such fashions, now, Mary, mo chroí,
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.
I’ve seen England’s king from the top of a bus
And I’ve 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 he’s visited Erin’s green shore
We’ll be much better friends than we’ve been heretofore
When we’ve got all we want, we’re as quiet as can be
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.
You remember young Peter O’Loughlin, of course,
Well, now he is here at the head of the Force.
I met him today, I was crossing the Strand,
And he stopped the whole street with a wave of his hand.
And there we stood talkin’ of days that are gone,
While the whole population of London looked on.
But for all these great powers he’s wishful like me,
To be back where the dark Mournes 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 of those roses you ventured to sip,
The colours might all come away on your lip,
So I’ll wait for the wild rose that’s waiting for me
In the place where the dark Mournes sweep down to the sea.