Molly Malone Grows Up

Suppose Molly Malone emigrated to America.

In San Francisco’s fair city,
Where the streets are so gritty,
There lived an old woman named Molly Malone.
Downtrodden and homeless,
Her voice, flat and toneless,
Hollered “Tin cans and bottles
Alive, alive oh”

Alive, alive oh. Alive, alive oh.
She cried, “Tin cans and bottles
Alive, alive oh”

Her condition was drastic
Her step it was spastic
While she limped through the streets with her wagon in tow.
As the cans she collected
From the trash were selected,
She cried “Tin cans and bottles,
Alive alive oh”

Alive, alive oh. Alive, alive oh.
She cried, “Tin cans and bottles
Alive, alive oh”

At night on the floor of
A Tenderloin doorway
She wept as she slept on her pallet of stone.
So if you feel dejected,
Dismayed, disrespected,
Consider the fate of
Poor Molly Malone.

Alive, alive oh. Alive, alive oh.
She cried, “Tin cans and bottles
Alive, alive oh”

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