I walked through this city a stranger,
In the land I can never call home.
I curse the sad notion that caused me,
In search of my fortune to roam.
Iґm weary of working and drinking,
My weeks wages left in the bar.
And God itґs a shame for to use a friendґs name,
Just to beg for the price of a jar.
I remember that bright April morning, when I
Left home to travel a-far To work till youґre dead,
For one room and a bed, Itґs not the reason I left Mullingar.
This Londonґs a city of heartbreak,
On a Friday thereґs friends by the score.
But when the payґs finished on Monday,
A friendґs not a friend anymore.
For the working day seems never ending,
From the shovel and pick thereґs no break.
And when youґre not working, youґre spending
The fortune you left home to make.
And for every man here that finds fortune,
And comes home to tell of the tale,
Each morning the broadway is crowded