The Irish Rover

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    On the Fourth of July, eighteen hundred and six
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    We set sail from the sweet Cobh 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
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    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
             Em
    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
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    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
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    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
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    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
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    He was cock of the walk
             Em
    And he rolled the dames under and over
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    They all knew at a glance
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    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
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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 Johnny McGirr
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    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
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    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
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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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    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
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    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
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    Swillin' poitin and stout
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    For him soon the torment's over
             Em
    Of the love of a maid
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    He is never afraid
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    An old salt from 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 the fog
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    And that whale of a 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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    Then the ship struck a rock
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    Oh Lord what a shock
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    The bulkhead was turned right over
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    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