Oh Mary this London's a wonderful sight
With people here workin' by day and by night
They don't sow potatoes, nor barley, nor wheat
But there's gangs o' them diggin' for gold in the street
At least when I axed them that's what I was told
So I just took a hand at 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'll believe me, when axed 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 trath
Say that if they were bound for a ball or a bath
Don't be startin' them fashions, now Mary Macree
Where the Mountains o' Mourne sweep down to the sea.

There's beautiful girls here, oh never you mind
With beautiful shapes nature never designed
And lovely complexions all roses and crame
But let me remark with regard to the same
That if at those roses you venture to sip
The colours 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.