My mother's name is Mary,
She was so good and true;
Because her name was Mary,
She called me Mary, too.
She wasn't gay or airy,
But plain as she could be;
I'd hate to be contrary,
And call myself Marie.

For it is Mary, Mary,
Plain as any name can be;
But with propriety,
Society will say Marie.
But it was Mary, Mary,
Long before the fashions came;
And there is something there,
That sounds so fair,
It's a grand old name!

Now, when her name is Mary,
There is no falseness there;
When to Marie she'll vary,
She'll surely bleach her hair.
Though Mary's ordinary,
Marie is fair to see;
Don't ever fear sweet Mary,
Beware of sweet Marie!