Me mind been bent on rambling, to Ireland I did fly
 I stepped on board a vision and I followed with a will
 When next I came to anchor at the cross of Spancil Hill

 Delighted by the novelty, enchanted by the scene
 Where in my early boyhood so often I had 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

 It bein? on the 23rd of June, the day before the fair
 When Ireland?s sons and daughters and friends assembled there
 The yound, the old, the brave and the bold came their duty to fulfill
 At the parish church near Clooney, a mile from Spancil Hill

 I went to see me neighbours, to hear what they might say
 The old ones where 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 make me breeches when I lived in Spancil Hill

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

 I dreamed I held and kissed her as in the days of yore
 She said "Oh Johnny, you?re only joking as many?s the time before"
 The cock, he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill
 I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill