back.gif (1450 bytes)The Mountains of Mourne

  1. 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 Ijust took a hand at this digging for gold
    But for aU that I found there I might as well be
    Where the mountains of mourne sweep down to the sea
    .
  2. I believe that when writing a wish you expressed
    As to how the fine ladies of London were dressed
    Well if you believe me, when asked to a ball
    They don't wear a top on their dresses at all
    Oh, I've seen them myself, and you couldn't in truth
    Say ifthey 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
    .
  3. I've seen England's king from the top of a bus
    I never knew him, though he means to know us;
    And though 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 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
    .
  4. 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 one wave of his hand
    And there we stood talking 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 dark Moume sweeps down to the sea.
    .
  5. 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 lip
    So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waiting for me
    Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea

Lyrics - Percy French

 

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