Molly Malone

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

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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.
As they both wheeled their barrows,
through streets, broad and narrow,
crying: “Cockles and mussels, alive a-live O!”

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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!”

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