The Irish Rover

In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the Coal Quay of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand City Hall in New York
We’d an elegant craft, it was rigged ’fore and aft
And how the trade winds drove her
She had twenty-three masts and she stood several blasts
And they called her the Irish Rover

There was Barney Magee from the banks of the Lee
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work
And a chap from Westmeath named Malone
There was Slugger O’Toole, who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
And your man Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper on the Irish Rover

There was awl Mickey Coote, who played hard on his flute
When the ladies lined up for his set
He was tooting with skill for each sparkling quadrille
Though the dancers were fluttered and bet
With his sparse, witty talk he was cock of the walk
As he rolled the dames under and over
They all knew at a glance when he took off his pants
That he sailed in the Irish Rover

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of bone
We had three million bales of old nanny goats’ tails
We had four million barrels of stone
We had five million hogs and six million dogs
And seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million sides of old blind horses’ hides
In the hold of the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And our ship lost her way in a fog
And a whale of a crew was reduced down to two
’Twas myself and the captain’s old dog
Then the ship struck a rock, oh, Lord what a shock
And nearly tumbled over
She turned nine times around, then the poor old dog was drowned
I’m the last of the Irish Rover