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I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone As she wheeled her wheelbarrow,through streets broad and narrow Crying cockles and mussles alive,alive-oh. Alive,alive-oh.Alive,alive-oh. Crying cockles and mussles,alive,alive-oh. She was a fishmonger and sure 'twas no wonder For so were her father and mother before They both wheeled their barrows through streets broad and narrow Crying cockles and mussles alive,alive-oh. Alive,alive-oh.Alive,alive-oh. Crying cockles and mussles,alive,alive-oh. She died of a fever and noone could save her And that was the end of sweet Molly Molone But her ghost wheels her barrow through streets broad and narrow Crying cockles and mussles alive,alive-oh. Alive,alive-oh.Alive,alive-oh. Crying cockles and mussles,alive,alive-oh. Evolved into a drawing-room ballad from a street call song in the 19th century. |
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