On the Fourth of July, Eighteen-Hundred-And-Six,
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 oh, how the wild wind 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 awl Mickey Coote
Who played hard on his flute,
When the ladies lined up for a set.
He was tootin' with skill
For each sparkling quadrille,
Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet.
With his smart witty talk
He was c___ 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.

[Instrumental Break]

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 MacCann
From the banks of the Bann,
Was the skipper of 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 a crew
Was reduced down to two,
Just meself and the Captain's old dog.
Then the ship struck a rock.
Oh Lord! what a shock! (Bam!)
The bulkhead was turned right over.
Turned nine times around,
And the poor old dog was drowned,
And the last of The Irish Rover.

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