Fairmount Hill

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’s sons and daughters and friends assembled there

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

Came their duty to fulfil at the parish church on Thatcher Street

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 broker Hughes

He’s as odd as ever still

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

I paid a flying 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 you still”

Oh, she’s one Miss Bazo Bailey, the pride of Fairmount Hill

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

Against an angry jealous foe 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