Molly Malone

Young Michael, the king of Mossbawn,

remember,

And long ago the time

when we followed you home,

All told the link music with tears we

made,

As we hung round the homestead we stayed.

One evening he sat at the door

and his love,

With Molly looked out from the window

above,

Said, "Please go away, you're in trouble,

I dread,"

But he answered, "I'll not go away."

"Is your mother in Molly

Malone?" Molly sighed,

"She's out." "Is your father

in Molly Malone?" Molly

cried, "He's out."

"Then can I come in by the

fireside, And sit there along

with you?" But she made with a smile,

"Oh, you wait for the wife of the

fireside, me."

When an Irish man worships a pair of

bright

eyes, To get at them sure he'll tell all

sorts of lies, But they, Mark,

you never once

believed him yet, And

that old saying's young

Michael, you.

So he stood there in arms you for quite a

long

while, And Molly said,

"Please go away with your

style." "Oh, why do you worry me so?"

And he

replied, "It's your mother I want and not

you."

"Is your mother in Molly Malone?"

Molly

sighed, "She's out." "Is your father

in Molly Malone?" Molly

cried, "He's out."

"Then can I come in by the

fireside, And sit there along

with you?"

But she made with a smile, "Oh,

you wait for the

wife of the fireside,

me."