Alive – alive oh, alive – alive oh,
Singing cockles and mussels,
Alive – alive oh!

She’s our uncrowned queen of the fishmongers
who would have the young men stop and stare
for some it’s those moon-white shoulders
for others it’s that great mane of hair.
But they return to the boss at the office
muttering some idle wish, 
while she dances  a curtsey before them
as she twists off the head of a fish.
But the blind beggars who live by the roadside
know the sound of her voice from the many,
and they know she’s not cheap with her time
and they know she’s not cheap with her pennies.
For as she sits telling them an old story
of a knight and his lover long past
their coin cups brim with the richness
of her wise and mindless laugh.
She’s the street’s uncrowned queen of the fishmongers
who would have all Dubs stop and take heed
for some it’s a nod for the memory
for others it’s a smile for the need.