The Irish Rover
On the Fourth of July, 1806We set sail from the sweet Cove of CorkWe were sailing away with a cargo of bricksFor the Grand City Hall in New York'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore and aftAnd oh, how the wild wind drove herShe stood several blasts, she had twenty seven mastsAnd they called her The Irish Rover
We had one million bags of the best Sligo ragsWe had two million barrels of boneWe had three million bails of old nanny goats' tailsWe had four million barrels of stoneWe had five million dogs and six million hogsSeven million barrels of PorterWe had eight million bails of old blind horses hidesIn the hold of the Irish Rover
There was awl Mickey Coote who played hard on his fluteWhen the ladies lined up for a setHe was tootin' with skill for each sparkling quadrilleThough the dancers were fluther'd and betWith his smart witty talk, he was cock of the walkAnd he rolled the dames under and overThey all knew at a glance when he took up his stanceThat he sailed in The Irish Rover
There was Barney McGee from the banks of the LeeThere was Hogan from County TyroneThere was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of workAnd a man from Westmeath called MaloneThere was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a ruleAnd fighting Bill Tracy from DoverAnd your man, Mick MacCann from the banks of the BannWas the skipper of the Irish Rover
For a sailor it's always a bother in lifeIt's so lonesome by night and by dayAnd he longs for the shore and a pretty young whoreWho will melt all his troubles awayAll the noise and the rout swillin' poteen and stoutFor him soon is done and overOf the love of a maid, he is never afraidAn old salt from the Irish Rover
We had sailed seven years when the measles broke outAnd the ship had lost its way in the fogAnd that whale of a crew was reduced down to twoJust myself and the Captain's old dogThen the ship struck a rock, oh Lord! What a shockThe bulkhead was turned right overTurned nine times around and the poor old dog was drownedAnd I'm the last of The Irish Rover