Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
Me mind bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly
I stepped on board a vision and followed with a will
Till next I came to anchor at the cross near
Spancil Hill
Delighted by the novelty enchanted with the scene
Where in my earlt boyhood I had often been
I thought I heard a rumour and I think I hear it still
It's the little stream of water that flows down
Spancil Hill
To amuse a passing fancy I lay down on the ground
And all my school companions
They shortly gather round
When we were home returning
We danced with bright goodwill
To Martin Moynihan's music at the cross at
Spancil Hill
It was on the 24th of June the day before the fair
When Ireland's sons and daughters and friends
Assembled there
The young the old the brave and the bold
Came their duty to fulfil
At the parish church in Clooney a mile from
Spancil Hill
I went so see my neighbours to see what they might say
The old ones they were dead and gone
The young ones turning grey
I met the tailor Quigley he as bold as ever still
For he used to make my britches when I lived at
Spancil Hill
I paid a flying visit to my first and only love
She's as fair as a lily and gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me crying
Johnny I love you still
She was the farmer's daughter the pride of
Spancil Hill
Well I dreamt I hugged and kissed her
In the days of yore
She said Johnny you're only joking
As many the time before
The cock crew in the morning
He crew both loud and shrill
And I woke in California many miles from
Spancil Hill
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