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(Hey) |
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In the Year of our Lord eighteen hundred and six |
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We set sail from the coal quay of Cork |
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We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks |
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For the Grand City Hall of New York |
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We had an elegant craft |
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She was rigged fore and aft |
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And oh, how the wild winds drove her |
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She had twenty seven masts |
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And withstood several blasts |
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And they called her The Irish Rover |
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(Hey) |
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There was Barney McGee |
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From the banks of the Lee |
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There was Hogan from County Tyrone |
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There was Charlie McGurk |
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Who was scared stiff of work |
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And a chap from Westmeath, called Malone |
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There was Slugger O'Toole |
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Who was drunk, as a rule |
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And Fighting Bill Tracy from Dover |
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And your man, Mick McCann |
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From the banks of the Bann |
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Was the skipper of the Irish Rover |
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(Hey) |
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Well we had five million bags of the best Sligo rags |
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We had six million barrels of stones |
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And we had seven million bales of old nanny goats tails |
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We had eight million barrels of bones |
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We had nine million hogs |
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Ten million dogs |
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Eleven million barrels of porter |
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And we had twelve million sides of old blind horses' hides |
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In the hold of the Irish Rover |
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We had sailed seven years |
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When the measles broke out |
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And the ship lost its way in a fog |
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And that whole of the crew |
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Was reduced down to two |
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Just myself and the Captain's old dog |
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Well the ship struck a rock |
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Oh Lord, what a shock |
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The boat she turned right over |
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She turned nine times around |
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And the poor old dog was drowned |
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I'm the last of The Irish Rover |
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(Hey) |
