| Eb | | I'll t | ell me ma when I get home, |
|
| Bb7 | Eb | | the b | oys won't leave the g | irls alone, |
|
| Eb | | P | ulled me hair, stole me comb |
|
| Bb7 | Eb | | but th | at's allright till | I go home. |
|
| Eb | Ab | | Sh | e is handsome, s | he is pretty |
|
| Eb | Bb7 | | s | he is the Belle of D | ublin city, |
|
| Eb | Ab | | Sh | e is a courtin' a | one two three, |
|
| Eb | Bb7 | Eb | | Pr | ay can you t | ell me wh | o is she? |
|
|
|
(For the next verses, you can swap the chord patterns of the |
|
|
first two lines and second two lines, so you start with |
|
|
|
for the first line. Dubliners usualy do swap, but not always. |
|
|
Do as you like better...) |
|
|
|
Albert Mooney says he loves her, |
|
|
all the boys are fightin' for her, |
|
|
Knock at the door, ring at the bell, |
|
|
and "Oh, me true love, are you well?" |
|
|
Out she comes, white as snow, |
|
|
rings on her fingers, bells on her toes |
|
|
Ould Johny Morrissey says she'll die, |
|
|
if she doesn't get a fella with the roving eye. |
|
|
|
Let the wind and the rain and the hail blow high, |
|
|
and the snow comes a travelin' through the sky, |
|
|
She's as sweet as an apple pie, |
|
|
she'll get her own lad by and by, |
|
|
When she gets a lad of her own, |
|
|
she won't tell her ma when she gets home. |
|
|
Let them all come as they will, |
|
|
It's Albert Mooney she loves still. |
|
|
Home
