Mary and Bridget were scrubbing.
Oh my, how they could scrub!
They were quite true to their dusting,
While the foreman watched 'em rub.
They were our pals
But we done 'em wrong.
Mary went down to the corner,
Just for a bucket of rye.
Many came back to her scrubbing,
And she started in to cry
As she saw the man
Who was doing her wrong.
For there at her bucket was Endy.
He held in his hand a release.
He gave Mary and Bridget their discharge.