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Am G Am
1.Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasent days gone by,
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me mind bein´ bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly,
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I stepped abroard a vision and followed with my will,
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till next I came to anchor at the cross near Spancil Hill.
Am G Am
2.Delighted by novelty,enchanted with the scene
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where in my early boyhood where often I had been.
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I thought I hesrd a murmur and I think I hear it still,
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it´s the little stream of water that flows down Spancil Hill.
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3.It being the twenty-third of June,the day before the fair,
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when Ireland´s sons and daughters in crowds assembled there.
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The young,the old,the brave and the bold,they came for sport and kill,
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there were jovial conversations at the cross of Spancil Hill.
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4.I went to see my neighbours,to hear what they might say,
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the old ones were all dead and gone,the others turning grey.
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I met with tailor Quigley,he´s as bold as ever still,
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sure he used to make my britches when I lived in Spancil Hill.
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5.I paid a flying visit to my first and only love,
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she´s white as any lily and gentle as a dove.
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She threw her arms around me,saying "Johnny,I love you still"
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she´s Mag,the farmer´s daughter and the pride of Spancil Hill.
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6.I dreamt I stopped and kissed her as in the days of yore.
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She said "Johnny,you´re only joking,as many´s the time before",
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the cock crew in the morning,he crew both loud and shrill,
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and I woke in California,many miles from Spancil Hill.
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