The Irish Rover

The Irish Rover

In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and six,
We set sail from the coal quay of Cork,
We were bound far away, with a cargo of bricks,
For the grand city hall in New York.
We'd a wonderful craft,
She was rigged fore and aft,
And oh how the wild wind dro-ove her,
She'd withstood sev'ral blasts,
She had twenty-seven masts,
And they called her the Irish Ro-ver.

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags,
We had two million barrels of bones,
We had three million sides of old blind horses' hides,
We had four million barrels of stones.
We had five million hogs,
Six million dogs,
Seven million barrels of Por-or-ter,
We had eight million bales,
Of old nanny goats' tails,
In the hold of the Irish Ro-ver.

There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee,
There was Hogan from County Tyrone,
There was Jimmy McGuerke, who was scarred stiff of work,                                  And a man from West Meath
called Malone.
There was `Slugger' O'Toole,
Who was drunk, as a rule,                                                                 And fighting Bill Tracey
from Do-o-ver,
And y'er man Mick McGann,
From the banks of the Bann,
Was the skipper of the Irish Ro-ver.

Oh we'd sailed seven years when the measles broke out,
And the ship lost its way in the fog,
And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two:
Just me'self and the captain's old dog.
The ship struck a rock,
Lord what a shock!
The boat, it was turned right o-o-ver,
We turned nine times around,
And the poor old dog was drowned,
I'm the last of the Irish Ro-ver.