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    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

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