Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
My mind been bents on ramblin' to Ireland I did fly
I stepped on board a vision and followed with the wind
When next I came to anchor at the cross of Spancil Hill

It bein' the twenty-third of June, the day before the fair
When Ireland sons and daughters in crowds assembled there
The young, the old, the brave and the bold, their journeys to fulfill
There was jovial conversation at the cross of Spancil Hill

And I went to see my neighbors to hear what they might say
But the old ones were all dead and gone and the young ones turnin' gray
And I met with the tailor Quigley, he's as bold as ever still
He used to make me breeches when I lived in Spancil Hill

I paid a flying visit to my one and only love
She's as white as any lily, she's as gentle as the dove
And she threw her arms around me sayin' "Johnny, I love you still"
She is Nell, the farmer's daughter and the pride of Spancil Hill

I dreamt I hugged and kissed her as in the days of yore
But she said "Johnny you're only jokin', as many as the time before"
And the cock, he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill
I awoke in California ayy, many miles from Spancil Hill