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.