| As I went down to Dublin City
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| At the hour of twelve at night,
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| Who should I see but a Spanish lady
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| Washing her feet by candle light.
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| First she washed them, then she dried them
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| O’er a fire of amber coal,
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| In all my life I ne’er did see
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| A maid so sweet about the sole.
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| Whack for the toora loora laddy,
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| Whack for the toora loora lay.
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| Whack for the toora loora laddy,
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| Whack for the toora loora lay.
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| As I went back through Dublin city
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| As the sun began to set,
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| Who should I spy but the Spanish lady
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| Catching a moth in a golden net.
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| When she saw me then she fled me,
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| Lifting her petticoat o’er her knee,
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| In all my life I ne’er did see
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| A maid so shy as the Spanish lady.
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| I’ve wandered north and I’ve wandered south,
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| Through Stonybatter and Patrick’s Close,
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| Up and around the Glouster diamond
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| And back by Napper Tandy’s house.
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| Old age has her hand laid on me,
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| Cold as a fire of ashy coals,
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| But in all my life I ne’er did see,
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| A maid so sweet as the Spanish lady. |