Molly Malone

Molly Malone grew up in La Grange.
She was a young lovely girl raised free-range.
Until she was seventeen,
and three men came to the farm at La Grange.
But she felt no alarm
even as they took away Dad and dear old Mom.

Oh, and she did sing,
Oh her voice did ring,

Molly Malone sang Cockles and Mussles
from her cradle to the table.

And they sent Molly Malone to a factory
where she learned to smoke and drink, and fuck
and pay out all her money, funny but
no one actually taught her to think.

Oh, and she did cry
Oh and she did cry,
Cockles and Mussles,
Even as they took the needle out her arm.

Miss Molly now she preferred Mistress to whore,
if one HAD to apply a label.
And she didn’t come round to the farm anymore,
on Sundays she beat down to the sea,
she was the finest sight to a boy like me.
And she’d cry, “Eat my cockles and mussles, alive-oh.”
She did cry from the cradle to my ladle.
Oh, and she did cry
Oh and she did cry,
She cried from the cradle straight to my table.

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