As I went down through Dublin city,
At the hour of twelve at night,
Who should I see but a Spanish lady,
Washing her feet by candlelight,
First she washed them, then she dried them,
Over a fire of angry coals,
In all me life I ne'er did see,
Such a maid so neat about the soul,
Whack fol the toora loora laddie,
Whack fol the toora loora lay.

I stopped to look, but the watchman passed,
Said he, "Young fella now the light is late,
Along with your home or I'll wrestle you,
Straightway through the Bridewell Gate",
I threw a kiss to the Spanish lady,
Hot as a fire of angry coal,
Oh, in all mе life I ne'er did see,
Such a maid so sweet about thе soul,
Whack fol the toora loora laddie,
Whack fol the toora loora lay.

Now she's no mot for a poddle swaddy,
With her ivory comb and her mantle fine,
But she'd make a wife for the provished marshel,
Drunk on brandy or claret wine,
I got a look from the spanish lady,
Cold as a fire of ashey coal,
When all mе life I ne'er did see,
Such a maid so sweet about thе soul,
Whack fol the toora loora laddie,
Whack fol the toora loora lay.

I've wandered north and I've wandered south,
By Stoneybatter and Patrick's Close,
Up around by the Gloucester Diamond,
And back through Napper Tandy's house,
Old age has laid her hand upon me,
Cold as a fire of ashey coal,
But where is the lovely Spanish lady,
Neat and sweet about the soul,
Whack fol the toora loora laddie,
Whack fol the toora loora lay.

Whack fol the toora loora laddie,
Whack fol the toora loora lay.