I walked down thro' Dublin city
at the hour of twelve at night,
who should I spy but a Spanish lady
washing her feet by candle light.

First she washed them,
then she dried them,
o'er a fire of amber coal...
All my life I n'er did see
a maid so neat about the sole. 

Whack for the toora loora lady
Whack for the toora loora lee
Whack for the toora loora lady
Whack for the toora loora lee

As I came back thro' Dublin city
at the hour of half past eight,
who should I spy but a Spanish lady
brushing her hair in broad day light.

First she tossed it
then she brushed it
on her lap was a silver comb.
In all  my life I never did see
So fair a maid since I did roam.

As I went down through Dublin city
when the sun began to set
who should I see but a Spanish lady
catching a moth in a golden net

When she saw me,
then she fled me
lifting her petticoat over the knee
In all my life I n'er did spy
a maid so blithe as the Spanish lady.