| Am | G | Am | |
| Last night as I lay | dreaming of pleasant | days gone by, |
| C | G | |
| 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 |
| 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 times before, |
| The cock he crew the morning, he crew both loud and shrill, |
| And I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill. |