| As I came down through Dublin City, at the hour of twelve at night
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| Who should I spy, but a Spanish Lady
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| Washing her feet by the candlelight
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| First she washed them, then she dried them
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| Over a fire of amber coals
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| In all me life I ne’er did see, a maid so sweet about the soul
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| Whack for the Too Rye Ooh Ray Lady
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| Whack for the Too Rye Ooh Rye Aye
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| As I came back through Dublin City at the hour of Half past Eight
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| Who should I spy but the Spanish Lady
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| Brushing her hair in the broad daylight
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| First she brushed it, then she tossed it
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| On her lap was a silver comb
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| In all me life I ne’er did see, a maid so fair since I did roam
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| As I returned to Dublin City, as the sun began to set
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| Who should I spy but a Spanish lady
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| Catching a moth, in a golden net
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| First she saw me, then she fled me
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| Lifted her petticoats o’er her knee
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| In all me life I ne’er did see, a maid so fair as the Spanish Lady
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| Ive wandered North, and I have wonder South
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| Through Stoney Barter and Patricks Close
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| Up and around, by the Gloucester Diamond
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| And back by Napper Tandys' house
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| Auld age has laid her hands on me
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| Cold as a fire of ashy coals…
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| But, there is the love of me Spanish Lady, a maid so sweet about the soul |