[Arrangement: KF Words: Tradional]
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Last night as I lay dreaming
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of pleasant days gone by,
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Me mind been bent on rambling,
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to Ireland I did fly,
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I stepped on board a vision
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and followed with a will
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Till next I came to anchor
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at the cross near Spancill Hill.
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Delighted by the novelty,
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enchanted with the scene,
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Where in me early boyhood - often I had been,
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I thought I heard a murmur
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and I think I hear it still
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It's the little stream of water
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that flows down Spancill Hill.
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To amuse a passing fancy
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I lay down on the ground,
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And all my school companions
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they shortly gathered round
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When we were home returning
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we danced with bright goodwill,
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To Martin Moynahan's music
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at the cross at Spancill Hill.
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It was on the 24th of June,
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the day before the fair
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When Ireland's sons and daughters
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and all assembled there,
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The young, the old, the brave, the bold
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came their duty to fulfil,
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At the little church in Clooney,
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a mile from Spancill Hill.
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I went to see my neighbours
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to see what they might say,
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The old ones they were dead and gone,
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the young ones turning grey,
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I met the tailor Quigley, he was bold as ever still,
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sure he used to make my britches
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when I lived at Spancill Hill.
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I paid a flying visit to me first and only love,
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She's as fair as any lilly and gentle as a dove,
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She threw her arms around me
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crying "Johnny I love you still",
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She was a farmer's daughter,
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the pride of Spancill Hill.
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Well I dreamt I hugged and kissed her
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as in the days of yore
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She said "Johnny you're only joking"
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as many the times before,
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The cock crew in the morning,
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he crew both loud and shrill
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And I awoke in California,
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many miles from Spancill Hill.
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Spancill Hill
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Cruachan |