As I roved out through Dublin City, at the hour at twelve at night.
Who should I spy but the Spanish
Lady, washing her face till candlelight.
First she washed them, then she dried them, over a fire of amber coal.
In all my life I never did see, a maid so sweet about the soul.
Whack for the toora-loora-laddy.
Whack for the toora-loora-lay.
Whack for the toora-loora-laddy.
Whack for the toora-loora-lay.
As I roved out through Dublin City, at the hour of half past eight.
Who should I see but the Spanish
Lady, brushing her hair so trim and neat.
First she washed it, then she dried it, on her lap was a silver comb.
In all my life I never did see, so fair and maid since I did roam.
Whack for the toora-loora-laddy.
Whack for the toora-loora-lay.
Whack for the toora-loora-laddy.
Whack for the toora-loora-lay.
As roved out through Dublin City, as the sun began to set.
Who should I see but the Spanish
Lady, catching a knot in the golden net.
When she spied me,
Quick she fled me, lifting her petticoat over her knee.
In all my life I never did see a maid so gay as the Spanish lady.
Whack for the toora-loora-laddy.
Whack for the toora-loora-lay.
Whack for the toora-loora-laddy.
Whack for the toora-loora-lay.
I wandered north and I wandered south
Through Stoneybatter and Patrick's Close.
Up and around by the Gloucester
Diamond and back by Nappertandy's House.
Old age has laid her arms on me.
Cold as a fire of ashy coals.
Where is the lovely Spanish lady neat and sweet about the soul?
Whack for the toora-loora-laddy.
Whack for the toora-loora-lay.
Whack for the toora-loora-laddy.
Whack for the toora-loora-lay.
Whack for the toora-loora-laddy.
Whack for the toora-loora-lay.
Whack for the toora-loora-laddy.
Whack for the toora-loora-lay.