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 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 O'Mourne sweep down to the sea
I believe that when writin' a wish you expressed
As to how the fine ladies of London were dressed
But if you'll believe me, when asked to a ball
They don't wear no tops 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 O'Mourne sweep down to the sea
You remember young Peter O'Lachlan, of course
But he's here with the rest of the force
I met him the day I was crossing the strand
And he stopped all street with a 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 this great powers, he's wishful to be
Where the Mountains O'Mourne sweep down to the sea
There's beautiful girls here, oh, never you mind
Beautiful shapes Nature never designed
Lovely complexions of roses and cream
But let me remark with regard to the same
That if at those roses you venture to sip
The colors might all come away on your lip
So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waitin' for me
Where the Mountains O'Mourne sweep down to the sea
Where the Mountains O'Mourne sweep down to the sea