Tell me, ma, when I go home
The boys won’t leave the girls alone
They pull my hair, they stole my comb
Well, that’s alright, ’til I go home
She is handsome, she is pretty
She is the belle of Belfast City
She is a-courting one, two, three
Pray, won’t you tell me who is she?
Albert Mooney says he loves her
All the boys are fighting for her
Knock at the door and they ring that bell
Oh, my true love, are you well?
Out she comes, as white as snow
Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
Old Johnny Murray says, “She will die
If she doesn’t get the fella with the roving eye”
Let the wind and the rain and the hail blow high
And the snow come a-tumbling from the sky
She’s as nice as apple pie
And she’ll get her own lad, by and by
When she gets a lad of her own
She won’t tell her ma, ’til she comes home
Let them all come, as they will
For it’s Albert Mooney she loves still
Belfast City it’s the only place to be
Belfast City it’s a place for you and me
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