Biddy Mulligan,
The Pride Of The Coombe


You may travel from Clare to the county Kildare 
From Francis Street back to the Coombe; 
But where would you see a fine widow like me? 
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe, me boys, 
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe. 

I'm a buxom fine widow, I live in a spot 
In Dublin, they call it the Coombe. 
Me shops and me stalls are laid out on the street, 
And me palace consists of one room. 
I sell apples and oranges, nuts and sweet peas, 
Bananas and sugar stick sweet. 
On a Saturday night I sell second-hand clothes, 
From the floor of me stall in the street. 

You may travel from Clare to the county Kildare 
From Francis Street back to the Coombe; 
But where would you see a fine widow like me? 
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe, me boys, 
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe.  

I sell fish on a Friday, spread out on a board; 
The finest you'll find in the sea. 
But the best is my herrings, fine Dublin Bay herrings, 
There's herrings for dinner and tea. 
I have a son, Mick, he's great on the flute, 
He plays in the Longford Street band; 
It would do your heart good for to see him march out
On a Sunday for Dollymount Strand. 

You may travel from Clare to the county Kildare 
From Francis Street back to the Coombe; 
But where would you see a fine widow like me? 
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe, me boys, 
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe. 

In the park, on a Sunday, I make quite a dash; 
The neighbors look on in surprise. 
With my Aberdeen shawlie thrown over my head, 
I dazzle the sight of their eyes. 
At Patrick Street corner, for sixty-four years, 
I've stood, and no one can deny 
That while I stood there, nobody could dare 
To say black was the white of my eye. 

You may travel from Clare to the county Kildare 
From Francis Street back to the Coombe; 
But where would you see a fine widow like me? 
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe, me boys, 
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe. 

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