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Molly Malone

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In Dublin's Fair City, where the girls are so pretty,
I first put my eyes on sweet Molly Malone.
She drove a wheel-barrow thro' streets broad and narrow,
Crying "cockles and mussels, a-live, a-live-o
A-live, alive-o! A-live, a-live-o!"
Crying "cockles and mussels, a-live, a-live-o!

She was a fishing-monger, and sure it was no wonder,
For so was her father and mother before.
They drove their wheel-barrows thro' streets broad and narrow,
Crying "cockles and mussels, a-live, a-live-o
A-live, alive-o! A-live, a-live-o!"
Crying "cockles and mussels, a-live, a-live-o!"

She died of the fever, and nothing could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.
But her ghost drives a barrow thro' streets broad and narrow,
Crying "cockles and mussels, a-live, a-live-o
A-live, alive-o! A-live, a-live-o!"
Crying "cockles and mussels, a-live, a-live-o!"