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On the Fourth of July, 1806 |
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We set sail from the sweet Cove of Cork |
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We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks |
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For the Grand City Hall in New York |
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'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore and aft |
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And oh, how the wild wind drove her |
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She stood several blasts, she had twenty seven masts |
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And they called her The Irish Rover |
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We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags |
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We had two million barrels of stone |
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We had three million sides of old blind horses hides |
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We had four million barrels of bones |
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We had five million hogs and six million dogs |
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Seven million barrels of porter |
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We had eight million bails of old nanny goats' tails |
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In the hold of the Irish Rover |
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There was awl Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute |
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When the ladies lined up for a set |
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He was tootin' with skill for each sparkling quadrille |
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Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet |
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With his smart witty talk, he was cock of the walk |
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And he rolled the dames under and over |
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They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance |
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That he sailed in The Irish Rover |
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There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee |
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There was Hogan from County Tyrone |
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There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work |
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And a man from Westmeath called Malone |
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There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule |
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And fighting Bill Treacy from Dover |
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And your man, Mick MacCann from the banks of the Bann |
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Was the skipper of the Irish Rover |
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For a sailor it's always a bother in life |
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It's so lonesome by night and day |
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That he longs for the shore and a charming young whore |
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Who will melt all his troubles away |
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Oh, the noise and the rout swillin' poitin and stout |
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For him soon the torment's over |
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Of the love of a maid, he is never afraid |
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An old salt from the Irish Rover |
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We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out |
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And the ship lost its way in the fog |
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And that whale of a crew was reduced down to two |
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Just myself and the Captain's old dog |
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Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord! What a shock |
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The bulkhead was turned right over |
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Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned |
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And I'm the last of The Irish Rover |
