As I came down to Dublin City at the hour of twelve 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 angry coals.
In all my life I never did see such a maid so neat above the soles.
Whack fol the too-ra loo-ra laddy,
Whack fol the too-ra loo-ra-lay
I stopped to talk but the watchman pa**ed. Said he, "Young fellow, now the night is late.
Along with you home or I will wrestle you straightway through the Bridewell gate."
I drew a kiss of the Spanish Lady, hot as a fire of angry coals,
In all my life I never did see such a maid so neat above the soles.
Whack fol the too-ra loo-ra laddy,
Whack fol the too-ra loo-ra-lay
Now she's no mot for a puddle swaddy with her ivory comb and her mantle fine
But she'd make a wife for the Provost Marshall drunk on brandy and claret wine
I drew a kiss of the Spanish Lady, hot as a fire of angry coals,
In all my life I never did see such a maid so neat above the soles.
Whack fol the too-ra loo-ra laddy,
Whack fol the too-ra loo-ra-lay
I've wandered north and I've wandered south through Stonybu*ter and Patrick's Close,
Up and down the Gloucester Diamond and back through Napper Tandy's house.
Old age has laid her arm on me cold as a fire of ashy coal
And where is the lovely Spanish Lady neat and sweet above the soles?
Whack fol the too-ra loo-ra laddy,
Whack fol the too-ra loo-ra-lay