As I went out through Dublin City At the hour of twelve oґclock at night Who should I see but a Spanish lady Washing her feet by candle light First she washed them and then she dried them Over a fire of ambry coals In all my life I never did see A maid so sweet about the soles
Whack fol the toor a loor a laddy Whack fol the toor a loor a lay Whack fol the toor a loor a laddy Whack fol the toor a loor a lay
I stopped to look but the watchman passed Says he, "Young fellow, the night is late Along with you home or I will wrestle you Straight away through the Bridewell gate" I threw a look to the Spanish lady Hot as the fire of ambry coals In all my life I never did see A maid so sweet about the soles
As I walked back through Dublin City As the dawn of day was oґer Who should I see but the Spanish lady When I was weary and footsore
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