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On the \Ch{G}{Fourth} of July, \Ch{C}{1806}

We set \Ch{G}{sail} from the sweet Cobh of \Ch{D}{Cork}

We were \Ch{G}{sailing} away with a \Ch{C}{cargo} of bricks

For the \Ch{G}{Grand} City \Ch{D}{Hall} in New \Ch{G}{York}

'Twas a \Ch{G}{wonderful} craft, She was \Ch{D}{rigged} fore and aft

And \Ch{G}{oh}, how the wild wind \Ch{D}{drove} her

She stood \Ch{G}{several} blasts, She had \Ch{C}{twenty} seven masts

And they \Ch{G}{called} her The \Ch{D}{Irish} \Ch{G}{Rover}
\end{SBVerse*}

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We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags

We had two million barrels of stones

We had three million sides of old blind horses hides'

We had four million barrels of bones

We had five million hogs, six million dogs

Seven million barrels of porter

We had eight million barrels of old nanny goate tails

In the hold of the Irish Rover

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There was awl Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute

And the ladies lined up for a set

He would tootle 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

As 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

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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 Tracy from Dover

And your man, Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann

Was the skipper of the Irish Rover

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For a sailor its' always a bother in life

It's so lonesome by night and by day

That he longs for the shore and a charming young whore

Who will melt all his troubles away

Oh, the noise and the rout swillin' poiteen and stout

For him soon the torment's over

Of the love of a maid he is never afraid

An old salt from the Irish Rover

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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 myself and the Captain's old dog

Then the ship struck a rock. Oh Lord! what a shock

The bulkhead was turned right over

Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned

I'm the last of The Irish Rover
