Oh, Mary, this London's a wonderful sight
With 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 in writing, a wish you expressed
To know how the women of London were dressed
Well, would you believe it, when asked to a ball
They don't wear no tops to their dresses at all
I've seen it myself and you couldn't in truth
Tell whether they're bound for a ball or bath
Don't go starting those fashions, now Mary machree
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea
I've seen England's king from the top of the bus
We don't know him but he means to know us
And though by the saxon we've long been oppressed
I cheered, God forgive me, along with the rest
Now that he's visited Erin's green shores
We'll be better friends than we were heretofore
When we've got all we want, we're as quiet as can be
Where the mountains of Mourne sweeps down to the sea
You remember young Peter ... of course
He's over here at the head of the force
I saw him last week as I walked down the strand
And he stopped the whole world with one wave of his hand
As we stood talking of days that were gone
The whole population of London looked on
But for all his great power, he's anxious to be
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea
Oh, there's beautiful girls here, but never you mind
They have beautiful shapes nature never designed
And lovely complexions of roses and cream
But Peter remarked with regard to the same
That if at those roses you venture to sip
The color would all come away on your lip
So I'll wait for the dark rose that's waiting for me
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea