Molly Malone

 

 

In Dublin’s fair city where the girls are so pretty

I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone

She wheeled her wheel barrow through the streets wide and narrow,

Crying:  “Cockles and mussels alive, a-live O!

A-live a-live O!  A-live a-live O!

Crying:  Cockles and mussels alive, a-live O!”

 

 

She was a fishmonger and sure it was no wonder

For so were her father and mother before

And they both wheeled their barrows through streets broad and narrow

Crying: “Cockles and mussels alive a-live O!

A-live a-live O!  A-live a-live O!

Crying:  Cockles and mussels alive, a-live O!”

 

She died of a fever and no one could save her

And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone,

Now her ghost wheels her barrow through streets broad and narrow

Crying: “Cockles and mussels alive a-live O!

A-live a-live O!  A-live a-live O!

Crying:  Cockles and mussels alive, a-live O!”