|
On the fourth of July eighteen hundred and six |
|
We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork |
|
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks |
|
For the grad city hall in New York |
|
'T was a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft |
|
And oh, how the wild winds drove her |
|
She got several blasts, she had twenty-seven masts |
|
And they called her the Irish Rover |
|
We had one million bales of the best Sligo rags |
|
We had two million barrels of rum |
|
We had three million sides of old blind horses hides |
|
We had four million barrels of bones |
|
We had five million hogs, six million dogs |
|
Seven million barrels of porter |
|
We had eight million bails of old nanny goats' tails |
|
In the hold of the Irish Rover |
|
There was awl Mickey Coote who playes hard on his flute |
|
When the ladies lined up for his set |
|
He would tootle with skill for each sparkling quadrille |
|
Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet |
|
With his sparse witty talk he was cock of the walk |
|
As he rolled the dames under and over |
|
And they knew at a glance when he took up his stance |
|
They sailed in the Irish Rover |
|
There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee |
|
There was Hogan from County Tyrone |
|
There was Jimmy McGurk who was scarred stiff of work |
|
And a man from Westmeath called Malone |
|
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule |
|
And fighthing Bill Tracey from Dover |
|
And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann |
|
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover |
|
We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out |
|
And the ship lost it's way in a fog |
|
And that whale of the crew was reduced down to two |
|
Just myself and the captain's old dog |
|
Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord, what a shock! |
|
The bulkhead was turned right over |
|
Turned nine times around, and the poor dog was drowned |
|
I'm the last of the Irish Rover |