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Firkin
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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 broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels, alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Crying cockles and mussels, alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Crying cockles and mussels, alive-alive-o
She were a fishmonger, and it were no wonder
For so were her father and mother before
They wheeled their wheel barrows, through the streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels, alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Crying cockles and mussels, alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
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Crying cockles and mussels, alive-alive-o
She died of a fever, and no one cold save her
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
Now her ghost wheels a barrow, through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels, alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Crying cockles and mussels, alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Crying cockles and mussels, alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Crying cockles and mussels, alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Alive-alive-o
Crying cockles and mussels, alive-alive-o
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