Albert Mooney says he loves her,
All the boys are fighting for her,
They rap at the door and they ring at the bell,
Saying, 'Oh, my true love, are you well?'
Out she comes as white as snow,
Rings on her fingers, bells on her toes,
Old Johnny Murray says she'll die,
If she doesn't get the fellow with the roving eye.

Let the wind and the rain and the hail blow high
And the snow come travelling from the sky,
She's as nice as apple-pie,
And 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,
But it's Albert Mooney she loves still.

For more 'grown-up' declarations of love, consider the Appletree Press title 'A Little Book of Love Poems.