THE IRISH ROVER

On the fourth of July, 1806
We set sail from the sweet Cove 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 now how the wild winds drove her.
She stood 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 stone,
We had three million sides
Of old blind horses hides
We had four million barrels of bones,
We had five million hogs,
And six million dogs,
Seven million barrels of porter,
We had eight million bails
Of old nanny-goats' tails,
In the hold of the Irish Rover.

There was old Mickey Coote
Who played hard on his flute
When the ladies lined up for a set.
He was tootlin´ with skill
For each sparkling quadrille
Though the dancers were fluther´d and bet
With his smart witty talk
He was cock of the walk
And he rolled the dames under and over
They all knew at a glance
When he took up his stance
That he sailed in 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 that whale of the 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
And the poor old dog was drowned,
And the last of the Irish Rover.

Öjje