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 diggin' 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 diggin' for gold
 But for all that I've 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
 But if you'll believe me
 When asked to a ball
 They don't wear a top to their dresses at all
 Oh, I've seen them myself and you could not in truth
 Tell if they were bound for a ball or a bath
 Don't be startin' them fashions now, Mary McRee
 Where the mountains of Mourne
 Sweep down to the sea
 You remember young Peter O'Loughlin, of course
 Well, here he is now 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 his great powers
 He's wishful like me
 To be back where 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 of roses and cream
 But O'Loughlin remarked with regard to the same
 That if at those roses you venture to sip
 The color 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