Oh Mary, this London's a wonderful sight,
With the people here workin' by day and by night.
They don't grow 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 in this diggin' for gold;
But for all that I found there, I might as well be
Where the Mountains o' Mourne sweep down to the sea.

I believe that when writin' a wish you expressed
As to how the fine ladies in London were dressed.
Well if you believe me, when asked to a ball
They don't wear a 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 startin' them fashions now, Mary Machree,
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.

You remember young Peter O'Loughlin of course —
Well he's over here at the head o' the Force.
I met him today, I was crossing the Strand,
When he stopped the whole street with one wave of his hand.
And we stood there 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 the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.

There are beautiful girls here - Oh, never you mind -
They have beautiful shapes, nature never designed.
They've lovely complexions, of roses and cream
But O'Loughlin remarked regard to the same
Since you're a fine famile?, I give you a tip
The colour might all come away on your lip'
So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waitin' for me —
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea

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