Spancil Hill Duet

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Last night as I lay dreaming of 
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pleasant days gone by.
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Me mind being bent on rambling, to 
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Ireland I did fly.
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I stepped on board a vision and I 
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followed with the wind.
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And I shortly came to anchor at 
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the cross of Spancil Hill.

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It was on the 23rd of June, the 
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day before the fair.
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When Ireland's sons and daughters 
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were all assembled there.
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The young, the old, the brave, the 
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bold, their duty to fulfill.
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At the little church in Cluney, a 
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mile from Spancil Hill.

I went to see me neighbors, to see 
what they would say.
The old ones they were dead and 
gone, the young ones turning grey.
I met with tailor Quigley, he's as 
bold as ever still.
Sure he used to make me britches 
when I lived in Spancil Hill.

I paid a flying visit, to me first 
and only love.
She is fair as any lily, and gentle 
as a dove.
She threw her arms around me, saying
 "Johnny, I love you still".
Oh, she's Mick the ranger's 
daughter, and 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 cock crew in the morning, he 
crew both loud and shrill.
And I awoke in California, many 
miles from Spancil Hill.