I'll tell my ma when I go home
The boys won't leave the girls alone
They pulled my hair and they stole my comb
But that's alright 'til I go home.
She is the belle of Belfast City
She is courting 1, 2, 3,
Please won't you tell me who is she?
All the boys are fighting for her
They knock at the door and ring the bell
Saying, oh my true love, are you well?
Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
Old Johnny Murray says she'll die
If she doesn't get the fellow with the roving eye
And the snow come tumbling from the sky
She's as nice as apple pie
She'll get her own lad by and by
She won't tell her ma 'til she comes home
Let them come as they will
For it's Albert Mooney she loves still.