As I came down through Dublin City
At the hour of twelve at night
Who should I see but the Spanish lady
Washing her feet by candlelight
First she washed them, then she dried them
Over a fire of amber coal
In all my life I never did see
maid so sweet about the sole

Whack for the toora loora laddy
Whack for the toora loora lay
Whack for the toora loora laddy
Whack for the toora loora lay

As I came back through Dublin City
At the hour of half past eight
Who should I spy but the Spanish lady [bad word] her hair in the broad daylight
First she tossed it, then she [bad word] it
On her lap was a [bad word] In all my life I never did see
maid so fair since I did roam

As I went back through Dublin City
As the sun began to set
Who should I spy but the Spanish lady
Catching a moth in a golden net
When she saw me, then she fled me
Lifting her petticoat over her knee
In all my life I never did see
maid so shy as the Spanish lady