Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by,
Me mind bein´ bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly,
I stepped on board a vision and followed with the will,
When next I came to anchor at the cross near Spancil Hill.
Delighted by the novelty, enchanted by the scene
Where in my early boyhood so often I had been
I thought I heard a murmur and I think I hear it still,
It's that little stream of water that flows down Spancil Hill.
Being on the twenty-third of June, the day before the fair,
When Ireland's sons and daughters in crowds a**embled there
The young, the old, the brave and the bold, their duty to fulfill,
At the parish church of Clooney, a mile from Spancil Hill.
I went to see my neighbours, to hear what they might say,
The old ones were all dead and gone, and the young ones turning grey
I met the tailor Quigley, he's as bold as ever still,
Sure he used to make my britches when I lived in Spancil Hill.
I paid a flying visit to my first and only love,
She's as fair as any lily and gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me, saying "Johnny, I love you still"
Ah she's Nell, the farmer's daughter, the pride of Spancil Hill
I dreamt I held and kissed her as in the days of yore
She said "Johnny you're only joking, as many's the time before"
The c*** he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill,
I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill.
Me mind bein´ bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly,
I stepped on board a vision and followed with the will,
When next I came to anchor at the cross near Spancil Hill.
Delighted by the novelty, enchanted by the scene
Where in my early boyhood so often I had been
I thought I heard a murmur and I think I hear it still,
It's that little stream of water that flows down Spancil Hill.
Being on the twenty-third of June, the day before the fair,
When Ireland's sons and daughters in crowds a**embled there
The young, the old, the brave and the bold, their duty to fulfill,
At the parish church of Clooney, a mile from Spancil Hill.
I went to see my neighbours, to hear what they might say,
The old ones were all dead and gone, and the young ones turning grey
I met the tailor Quigley, he's as bold as ever still,
Sure he used to make my britches when I lived in Spancil Hill.
I paid a flying visit to my first and only love,
She's as fair as any lily and gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me, saying "Johnny, I love you still"
Ah she's Nell, the farmer's daughter, the pride of Spancil Hill
I dreamt I held and kissed her as in the days of yore
She said "Johnny you're only joking, as many's the time before"
The c*** he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill,
I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill.