©Rollie MacKinnon

It's that time of the year, the spring's comin' soon
	The boys want to court the girls 'neath the moon
The flowers in blossom, the trees are in bud
	If there was only a way to get through this red mud!

Chorus:	
	Mud, beautiful mud
	Mud, beautiful mud
	On the highways the potholes will give you a thud
	On the byways you're up to your axles in mud!

Old Mary Crosby lived on Riley's Lane
	It's hard packed in summer, except when it rains,
Or early in spring when the snow melt is done,
	To tell you the truth boys, it's nothin' but mud!

Early one spring, our story unfolds
	Mary decided to go for a stroll
She stepped from her doorway, no one heard the thud
	Bejaysus! She's up to her axle in mud!
	And it's...

(Repeat Chorus)

Her friends they assembled to do what they could
	Some made suggestions, others just stood
Some tried explosive, it proved out a dud
	Poor Mary's still up to her axle in mud
	And it's...

(Repeat Chorus)

Several days later the parish priest came
	To pay her a visit, he called out her name
She cried "Father dear, don't stop to chew cud
	I've been seven days with me axle in mud!"
	And it's...

(Repeat Chorus)

Now the city department arrived on the scene
	With backhoe and shovel and other machines
Two trucks, six buses, a foreman called "Bud"
	Still Mary's old axle held fast in the mud.

But finally the day came, they freed her at last
	There were fifty two horses, and thirty jackass
Six tractors, two graders, and barrels of gas
	To get her old axle back up on the grass!
	And it's...

(Repeat Chorus)