If all the women in the town were bundled up together,
I know a girl could beat them all, in any kind of weather;
The rain can’t wash the powder off, because she does not wear it,
Her face and figure’s all her own: it’s true, for I declare it!
Also Read: Sad Girl [The Girl You Ruined]
For she’s a big stout, strong lump of an agricultural Irish girl
She neither paints nor powders and her figure is all her own.
And she can strike that hard that you’d think that you’d been struck by the kick of a mule,
It’s “The full of the house” of Irish love is Mary Ann Malone.
Also Read: What it feels like to be a girl
She was only seventeen last grass, and still improving greatly;
I wonder what she’ll be at when her bones are set completely,
You’d think your hand was in a vice the moment that she shakes it,
And if there’s any cake around, it’s Mary Ann that takes it!
For she’s a big stout, strong lump, etc.
Also See: Poetry and Short Narrations