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Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by |
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My mind being bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly |
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I stepped on board a vision and followed with the wind |
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Till next I came to anchor at the cross near Spancill Hill |
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T'was on the 23rd June the day before the fair |
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When lreland's sons and daughters and friends assembled there |
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The young ,the old, the brave, the bold came their duty to fill |
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At the parish church at Cluney just a mile from Spancill Hill |
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I went to see my neighbors to hear what they might say |
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The old ones were all dead and gone the young one's turning grey |
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I met the tailor Quigley, he's bold as ever still |
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Sure he used to mend my britches when I lived at Spancill Hill |
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I paid a flying visit to my first and only love |
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She's fair as any lily and gentle as a dove |
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She threw her arms around me saying "Johnny I love you still" |
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She was Meg the farmers daughter and the pride of Spancill Hill |
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She was Meg the farmers daughter and the pride of Spancill Hill |