Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by My mind being bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly I stepped on board a vision and I followed with the wind And I shortly came to anchor at the cross near Spancil Hill It being the 23rd June the day before the fair When lreland's sons and daughters in crowds a**embled there The young and the old, the brave and the bold their journey to fulfill There were jovial conversations at the fair of Spancil Hill I went to see my neighbors to hear what they might say The old ones were all dead and gone and the young one's turning grey I met with the tailor Quigley, he's a bould as ever still Sure he used to make 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 and as gentle as a dove She threw her arms around me saying "Johnny I love you still" Oh she's Ned the farmers daughter and the flower of Spancil Hill I dreamt I held and kissed her as in the days of yore She said, "Johnny you're only joking like many's the time before" The co*k he crew in the morning he crew both loud and shrill And I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill.