THE IRISH ROVER

On the fourth of July, eighteen-hundred and six
We set sail from the sweet Cobh of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand City Hall in New York
'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore and aft
And oh, how the wild wind drove her
She'd got several blasts, she had twenty-seven masts
And they called her The Irish Rover

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of stones

We had three million sides of old blind horses hides

We had four million barrels of bones

We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs

Seven million barrels of porter

We had eight million bails of old nanny goat's tails

In the hold of the Irish Rover

There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work
And a man from Westmeath called Malone
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Treacy from Dover
And your man, Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper on the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And the ship lost its way in the fog
And the whale of a 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, then the poor old dog was drowned
I'm the last of The Irish Rover