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\selectlanguage{english}
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\songcolumns{2}
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\beginsong{Irish Rover}[by=Traditional]
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\beginverse
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On the \[G]Fourth of July, \[C]1806
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We set \[G]sail from the sweet Cobh of \[D]Cork
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We were \[G]sailing away with a \[C]cargo of bricks
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For the \[G]Grand City \[D]Hall in New \[G]York
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'Twas a \[G]wonderful craft, She was \[D]rigged 'fore and aft'
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And \[G]oh, how the wild wind \[D]drove her
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She stood \[G]several blasts, She had \[C]twenty seven masts
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And they \[G]called her The \[D]Irish \[G]Rover
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\endverse
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\beginverse
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We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
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We had two million barrels of stones
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We had three million sides of old blind horses hides'
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We had four million barrels of bones
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We had five million hogs, six million dogs
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Seven million barrels of porter
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We had eight million barrels of old nanny goate tails
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In the hold of the Irish Rover
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\endverse
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\beginverse
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There was awl Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute
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And the ladies lined up for a set
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He would tootle with skill for each sparkling quadrille
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Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet
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With his smart witty talk, he was cock of the walk
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As he rolled the dames under and over
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They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance
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That he sailed in The Irish Rover
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\endverse
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\beginverse
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There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee
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There was Hogan from County Tyrone
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There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work
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And a man from Westmeath called Malone
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There was Slugger O'Toole, who was drunk as a rule
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And Fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
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And your man, Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann
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Was the skipper of the Irish Rover
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\endverse
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\beginverse
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For a sailor its' always a bother in life
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It's so lonesome by night and by day
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That he longs for the shore and a charming young whore
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Who will melt all his troubles away
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Oh, the noise and the rout swillin' poiteen and stout
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For him soon the torment's over
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Of the love of a maid he is never afraid
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An old salt from the Irish Rover
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\endverse
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\beginverse
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We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
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And the ship lost its way in the fog
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And that whale of a crew was reduced down to two
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Just myself and the Captain's old dog
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Then the ship struck a rock. Oh Lord! what a shock
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The bulkhead was turned right over
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Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned
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I'm the last of The Irish Rover
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\endverse
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\endsong
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