The Irish Rover

On the Fourt of July
eight teen hundred and six
We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork
We were sailing away
with a cargo of clay
For the Grand City Hall of New York
Twas a wonderful craft
She was rigged fore an 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 os the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of stone
We had tre million sides og 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 nannygoats´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 cock of the walk
And he rolled the dames under and over
When he took up his stance
They all knew at a glance
That he sailed in "The Irish Rover"

There was Barney McGee
From the banks of the Lee
The was Hogan from Vounty 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 og "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 reducted down to two
Just myself and the Captain´s old dog
Then the ship strudk 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"