American Old Time Song Lyrics: 31 Babies On Our Block

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 31

BABIES ON OUR BLOCK.
Words by Edward Harrigan. Music by Dave Braham.
Sung by Ed. Harrigan in "The Mulligan Guard Ball."

If you want for Information, or in need of merriment,
Come over with me socially to Murphy's tenement;
He owns a row of houses in the First Ward, near the dock.
Where Ireland's represented by the babies on our block.
There's the Phalens and the Whalens, from the sweet Dunocudee,
Sitting on the railings, with their children on their knee.
Gossiping and talking with neighbors by the flock.
Singing "Little Sally Waters" for the babies on our block.

Chorus.
Little Sally Waters, a-sitting in the sun,
frying and weeping for a young man;
Rise. Sally, rise, wipe your eye out with your frock,
That's sung by the babies a-living on our block.

On a warm day in summer, when the breeze comes off the sea,
A hundred thousand children lay on the Battery;
They come from Murphy's building, their noise 'nd stop a clock.
There's no perambulator with the babies on our block.
There's the Clearys and the Learys from the sweet Blackwater side.
Dozing on the Battery, gazing at the tide;
All royal blood and noble of Dan O'Connell stock.
Singing "Gravel, Greeny Gravel" for the babies on our block.

CHORUS.
Gravel, greeny gravel, how green the grasses grow
For all the pretty, fair, young maidens I know;
Green, gravel green, wipe your eye out with your frock,
That's sung by the babies a-living on our block.

It's good-morning to you, landlord, And how are you to-day?
When Patrick Murphy. Esquire, walks down the alleyway,
With his shining silken beaver -he's as solid as a rock.
The envy of the neighbors, boys, a-living on our block.
There's the Brannons and the Cannons. Far Downs and Cannaught men,
Aisy with the shovel and quite handy with the pen;
Neighborly and friendly, with relations by the flock.
Singing "Little Sally Waters" for the babies on our block.

Chorus.
Little Sally Waters, a sitting in the sun.
Crying and weeping for a young man;
Rise, Sally, rise, wipe your eye out with your frock,
That's sung by the babies a-living on our block.