Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by

My mind was spent on rambling to Boston I did fly

I stepped on board a vision and I followed with the wind

When next I came to anchor at the rocks on Fairmount Hill

It was on the 23rd of June the day before the fair

When Boston sons and daughters and friends assemble there

The young, the old, the brave, and the bold

Came there till they took their fill

At the parish church of Thatcher, a mile from Fairmount Hill

I went to see old friends there, to see what they might say

The old ones were all dead and gone, the young ones turning gray

I met the broken hills, hazes on as ever still

See I used to crash at his mother's house, when I hung on Fairmount Hill

I paid a fly and visit to my first and only love

She's as white as any lily, and as gentle as a dove

She threw her arm around me saying Andy I love ya still

Oh, she's one Miss Fayes O'Bailey, the pride of Fairmount Hill

I dreamt I fought a violent war for the hand of this darling gal

Against an angry jealous fool by the name of Danny Gill

The clock it rang in the morning, it rang both loud and shrill

When I awoke in California, many miles from Fairmount Hill