THE IRISH ROVER
In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the fair cove of Cork.
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the fine city hall of New York.
In a very fine craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft
And oh, how the trade winds drove her.
She had twenty three masts and withstood several blasts
And we called her the Irish Rover.
So fare thee weel, my pretty little girl,
For I must sail away!
So fair the well my pretty little girl,
For I must sail away.
There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee,
There was Hogan from County Tyrone.
And a chap called McGurk who was scared stiff of work
And a chap from West Meade called Malone.
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Casey from Dover.
There was Dooley from Claire who was strong as a bear
And was skipper of the Irish Rover.
We had one million bales of old billy goats' tails,
And two million buckets of stones.
We had three million sides of old blind horses hides,
And four million packets of bones.
We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs,
And seven million barrels of porter.
We had eight million bags of the best Sligo rags
In the hold of the Irish Rover.
We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
Then our ship lost her way in the fog.
And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two,
'Twas myself and the captain's old dog.
Then the ship struck a rock, what a terrible shock
And then she keeled right over,
Turned nine times around, and the poor old dog was drowned,
I'm the last of the Irish Rovers.