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

Delighted by the novelty, enchanted by the scene.
Where in me early boyhood so often I had been.
I thought I heard a murmur and 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.
Where all my [bad word]  they shortly gathered round.
When we were home returning, we danced with right good will
To Martin Monahan's music, at the cross at 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, the bold came to sport and kill
There were [bad word] at the fair of Spancil Hill

I went to see me neighbours to hear what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone, the young ones turning grey
I met with the tailor Quigley, he's as bold as ever still
Sure he used to make me 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 gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me, saying Johnny I love you still
O, she' Mag the ranger's daughter and the pride of Spancill Hill

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