Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by 
Me mind being 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 at Spancil Hill

Delighted by the novelty enchanted by the scene
When in my early boyhood oft times I have been
I thought I heard a murmur and I think I hear it still
It's the little stream of water that flows down Spancil 
Hill

To amuse a passing fancy I lay down on the ground
Where all my school companions they shortly gathered 
round 
When we were home returning we danced with bright 
goodwill 
To Martin Moylan's music at the cross at Spancil Hill

In being on the 23rd 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 Spancil 
Hill

I went to see my neighbours to see what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone the young ones 
turning grey
I met the tailor Quigley he's as bold as ever still
Sure he used to mend my britches when I lived in 
Spancil Hill

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

Oh I dreamt I held and kissed her as in the days of 
yore
Sez Johnny you're only joking as manys the time before
The cock she crew in the morning she crew both loud and 
shrill 
I awoke in California many miles from Spancil Hill