Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasent days gone by
Me mind been 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 Spancill Hill.
Delighted by the novelty, enchanted with the scene
Where in me early boyhood where often I had been
I thought I heard a murmer and I think I hear it still
It's the little stream of water that flows down Spancill Hill.
To amuse a passing fancy I lay down on the ground
And all me school copanions they shortly gathered round
When we were home returning we danced with bright goodwill
To Martin Moynahan's music at the cross at Spancill Hill.
It was on the twenty-forth 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 fulfill
At the parish church in Clooney, a mile from Spancill Hill.
I went to see me 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 me britches when I lived at Spancill Hill.
I paid a flying visit to me first and only love
She's as fair as any lily and gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me, crying Johnny I love you still
She was a farmer's daughter, the pride of Spancill Hill.
Well I dreamt I hugged and kissed her as in the day's of yore
She said, Johnny you're only joking as many the times before
The cock crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill
And I woke in California, many miles from Spancill Hill.