In Dublin's fair city, 
where the girls are so pretty,
'twas there I first set my eyes on 
sweet Molly Malone.
As she drove her wheel-barrow, 
through 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 that was no wonder,
for so was her father 
and mother before.
they drove their wheel-barrows 
through streets broad and narrow,
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 
through streets broad and narrow,
Crying "cockles and mussels, 
a-live, a-live-o!"