Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
Me mind being 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 at Spancil Hill

Delighted by the novelty enchanted by the scene
When in my early boyhood oft times I have been
I thought I heard a murmur 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
Where all my school companions they shortly gathered round
When we were home returning we danced with bright goodwill
To Martin Moylan's music at the cross at Spancil Hill

In being on the 23rd of June the day before the fair
When Ireland's sons and daughters and friends a__embled there
The young the old the brave and the bold came their duty to fulfill
At the parish church in Clooney a mile from Spancil Hill

I went to see my neighbours to see what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone the young ones turning grey
I met the tailor Quigley he's as bold as ever still
Sure he used to mend my britches when I lived in Spancil Hill

I paid a flying visit to my first and only love
She's as white as any lily as gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me saying Johnny I love you still
She's the Nell the farmer's daughter and the pride of Spancil Hill

Oh I dreamt I held and kissed her as in the days of yore
Sez Johnny you're only joking as manys the time before
The c___ she crew in the morning she crew both loud and shrill
I awoke in California many miles from Spancil Hill

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