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From: Wes Jester
To: firstname.lastname@example.org (email@example.com)
Date: Mon, 28 Jun 93 9:12:05 EDT
Mailer: Elm [revision: 70.85]
Am G Am
Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by,
Me mind being bent on rambling, to Ireland I did fly,
Am C G
I stepped aboard a vision, and followed with a will,
Am G Am
And I shortly came to anchor, at the cross on Spancil Hill.
It being the 23rd of June, the day before the fair,
When Irelands' sons and daughters, in crowds assembled there,
The young and the old, the brave and the bold,
Came their joy to fulfill, there were jovial conversations
At the fair at Spancil Hill.
I went to see my neighbors, to hear what they might say,
The old ones were all dead and gone, the young ones turning gray,
I met with the tailor Quigley he's as bald 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,
Shes 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 Nell the farmers daughter and the flower of Spancil
I dreamt I held and kissed her, as in the days of yore,
She said Johnny you're only joking like many's the times before,
The cock he crew the morning, he crew both loud and shrill,
And I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill.