Molly Malone

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In Dublin's fair city, where the girls are so pretty,
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I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone
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As she wheeled her wheelbarrow, through streets broad and narrow;
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crying cockles and mussels, alive a-live O!

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A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O!
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Crying cockles and mussels, alive a-live O!

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She was a fishmonger, and sure it was no wonder,
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for so were her father and mother before
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And they both wheeled their barrows, through streets broad and narrow;
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crying cockles and mussels, alive a-live O!

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A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O!
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Crying cockles and mussels, alive a-live O!

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She died of a fever, and no one could save her,
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and that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
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Now her ghost wheels her barrow, through streets broad and narrow;
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crying cockles and mussels, alive a-live O!

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A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O!
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Crying cockles and mussels, alive a-live O!
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A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O!
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Crying cockles and mussels, alive a-live O!