Текст песни The Spanish Lady - The Dubliners
                                                As 
                                                    I 
                                                came 
                                                down 
                                                through 
                                                Dublin 
                                                City, 
                                                at 
                                                the 
                                                hour 
                                                of 
                                                twelve 
                                                at 
                                                night,
 
                                    
                                
                                                Who 
                                                should 
                                                    I 
                                                spy, 
                                                but 
                                                    a 
                                                Spanish 
                                                Lady
 
                                    
                                
                                                Washing 
                                                her 
                                                feet 
                                                by 
                                                the 
                                                candlelight
 
                                    
                                
                                                First 
                                                she 
                                                washed 
                                                them, 
                                                then 
                                                she 
                                                dried 
                                                them
 
                                    
                                
                                                Over 
                                                    a 
                                                fire 
                                                of 
                                                amber 
                                                coals
 
                                    
                                
                                                In 
                                                all 
                                                me 
                                                life 
                                                    I 
                                                ne'er 
                                                did 
                                                see, 
                                                    a 
                                                maid 
                                                so 
                                                sweet 
                                                about 
                                                the 
                                                soul
 
                                    
                                
                                                Chorus
 
                                    
                                
                                                Whack 
                                                for 
                                                the 
                                                Too 
                                                Rye 
                                                Ooh 
                                                Ray 
                                                Lady,
 
                                    
                                
                                                Whack 
                                                for 
                                                the 
                                                Too 
                                                Rye 
                                                Ooh 
                                                Rye 
                                                Aye
 
                                    
                                
                                                As 
                                                    I 
                                                came 
                                                back 
                                                through 
                                                Dublin 
                                                City 
                                                at 
                                                the 
                                                hour 
                                                of 
                                                Half 
                                                past 
                                                Eight,
 
                                    
                                
                                                Who 
                                                should 
                                                    I 
                                                spy 
                                                but 
                                                the 
                                                Spanish 
                                                Lady,
 
                                    
                                
                                                Brushing 
                                                her 
                                                hair 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                broad 
                                                daylight
 
                                    
                                
                                                First 
                                                she 
                                                brushed 
                                                it, 
                                                then 
                                                she 
                                                tossed 
                                                it
 
                                    
                                
                                                On 
                                                her 
                                                lap 
                                                was 
                                                    a 
                                                silver 
                                                comb
 
                                    
                                
                                                In 
                                                all 
                                                me 
                                                life 
                                                    I 
                                                ne'er 
                                                did 
                                                see, 
                                                    a 
                                                maid 
                                                so 
                                                fair 
                                                since 
                                                    I 
                                                did 
                                                roam.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Chorus
 
                                    
                                
                                                As 
                                                    I 
                                                returned 
                                                to 
                                                Dublin 
                                                City, 
                                                as 
                                                the 
                                                sun 
                                                began 
                                                to 
                                                set
 
                                    
                                
                                                Who 
                                                should 
                                                    I 
                                                spy 
                                                but 
                                                    a 
                                                Spanish 
                                                lady
 
                                    
                                
                                                Catching 
                                                    a 
                                                moth, 
                                                in 
                                                    a 
                                                golden 
                                                net.
 
                                    
                                
                                                First 
                                                she 
                                                saw 
                                                me, 
                                                then 
                                                she 
                                                fled 
                                                me
 
                                    
                                
                                                Lifted 
                                                her 
                                                petticoats 
                                                o'er 
                                                her 
                                                knee
 
                                    
                                
                                                In 
                                                all 
                                                me 
                                                life 
                                                    I 
                                                ne'er 
                                                did 
                                                see, 
                                                    a 
                                                maid 
                                                so 
                                                fair 
                                                as 
                                                the 
                                                Spanish 
                                                Lady
 
                                    
                                
                                                Chorus
 
                                    
                                
                                                Ive 
                                                wandered 
                                                North, 
                                                and 
                                                    I 
                                                have 
                                                wonder 
                                                South
 
                                    
                                
                                                Through 
                                                Stoney 
                                                Barter 
                                                and 
                                                Patricks 
                                                Close
 
                                    
                                
                                                Up 
                                                and 
                                                around, 
                                                by 
                                                the 
                                                Gloucester 
                                                Diamond
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                back 
                                                by 
                                                Napper 
                                                Tandys' 
                                                house
 
                                    
                                
                                                Auld 
                                                age 
                                                has 
                                                laid 
                                                her 
                                                hands 
                                                on 
                                                me
 
                                    
                                
                                                Cold 
                                                as 
                                                    a 
                                                fire 
                                                of 
                                                ashy 
                                                coals...
 
                                    
                                
                                                But, 
                                                there 
                                                is 
                                                the 
                                                love 
                                                of 
                                                me 
                                                Spanish 
                                                Lady, 
                                                    a 
                                                maid 
                                                so 
                                                sweet 
                                                about 
                                                the 
                                                soul
 
                                    
                                
                                                Chorus 
                                                    x 
                                                2
 
                                    
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