As I roved out thro' Dublin city
At the hour of twelve o' the night,
Who should I spy but a Spanish Lady
Washing her feet by candlelight.
First she washed them, then she dried them
Over a fire of amber coal.
In all my life I ne'er did see
A maid so neat about the sole.

Whack for the too-ra loo-ra-laddy
Whack for the too-ra loo-ra-lee
Whack for the too-ra loo-ra-laddy
What for the too-ra loo-ra-lee.

As I came back through Dublin City,
At the hour of half-past eight,
Who should I spy but the Spanish Lady,
Brushing her hair in broad daylight.
First she toss'd it, then she brushed it,
On her lap was a silver comb.
In all my life I ne'er did see
So fair a maid since I did roam.

Whack for the too-ra loo-ra-laddy
Whack for the too-ra loo-ra-lee
Whack for the too-ra loo-ra-laddy
What for the too-ra loo-ra-lee.

As I went down thro' Dublin City
When the sun began to set.
Who should I spy but a Spanish Lady
Catching a moth in a golden net.
When she saw me, then she fled me,
Lifting her petticoat over the knee,
In all my life I ne'er did spy
A maid so blithe as the Spanish Lady.

Whack for the too-ra loo-ra-laddy
Whack for the too-ra loo-ra-lee
Whack for the too-ra loo-ra-laddy
What for the too-ra loo-ra-lee.