I was an unmarried girl   I'd just turned twenty-seven   When they sent me to the sisters   For the way men looked at me   Branded as a jezebel   I knew I was not bound for Heaven   I'd be cast in shame   Into the Magdalene laundries      Most girls come here pregnant   Some by their own fathers   Bridget got that belly   By her parish priest   We're trying to get things white as snow   All of us woe-begotten-daughters   In the steaming stains   Of the Magdalene laundries      Prostitutes and destitutes   And temptresses like me   Fallen women   Sentenced into dreamless drudgery   Why do they call this heartless place   Our Lady of Charity?   Oh charity!      These bloodless brides of Jesus   If they had just once glimpsed their groom   Then they'd know and they'd drop the stones   Concealed behind their rosaries   They wilt the grass they walk upon   They leech the light out of a room   They'd like to drive us down the drain   At the Magdalene laundries      Peg O'Connell died today   She was a cheeky girl   A flirt   They just stuffed her in a hole!   Surely to God you'd think at least some bells should ring!   One day I'm going to die here too   And they'll plant me in the dirt   Like some lame bulb   That never blooms come any spring   Not any spring   No, not any spring   Not any spring