Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
My mind been bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly
I stepped on board a vision and followed with a will
Til next I came to anchor at the cross in Spancil Hill

It been on the twenty-third of June the day before the 
fair
When Irelands 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 Spancil 
Hill

Delighted by the novelty, enchanted by the scene.
Where in me early boyhood where often I had been.
I thought I heard a murmur. I think I hear it still.
It's the little stream of water that flows down Spancil 
Hill.

To amuse a passing fancy, I laid down on the ground.
And all my school companions, they shortly gathered 
round.
When we were home returning, we danced with bright good 
will
To Martin Monahan's music, at the cross at Spancil 
Hill.

I went to see me neighbours to see what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone, the young ones 
turning grey
But I met the tailor Quigley, he's as bold as ever 
still
Ah, he used to make me britches when I lived at Spancil 
Hill

I paid a flying visit to my first and only love
She's as white as any lily, gentle as a dove
And she threw her arms around me, saying Johnny I love 
you still
Ah, she's now a farmer's daughter and the pride of 
Spancil Hill

I dreamt I knelt and kissed her as in the days of yore
Ah, Johnny you're only joking as many the time before
Then the cock he crew in the morning, he crew both loud 
and shrill
I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill