Oh Molly, my Irish Molly
Molly, mo cushla croi,
Molly, my Irish Molly
from the banks of the lovely Lee
My Valentine
Oh Molly was my heart’s delight--
an amply favored maid--
and every night beneath a light
she plied a merry trade.
One golden coin for quick relief
she usually took,
and two got thrils beyond belief;
oh boy, could Molly buck.
One Autumn, as the night grew dark,
“Let’s go” a client gushes;
she brought him deep into the park
and lay beneath the bushes.
The job was done, the client pressed
two coins into her hand,
perfunctorily Molly dressed
and went back to her stand.
With difficulty in the mist,
in time her focus settles
to see, clasped tightly in her fist,
two Confirmation Medals.
Saints Peter, Paul, Saint Patrick too,
The Virgin of Glengariff
were cursed when, slouching into view,
a client enquired her tariff.
She gave her head a haughty toss
then in a sultry voice,
deciding to recoup her loss,
she doubled up her price.
The client recoiled and then replied;
“I hope that you are worth it!”
“Worth it? Worth it? Molly cried;
“Sure I have medals for it!”
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