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On the fourth of July eighteen hundred and six
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We set sail from the sweet Cove of Cork
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We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
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For the grand city hall in New York
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ʼTwas an wonderful craft, she was rigged fore and aft
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And oh, how the wild wind drove her
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She could stand a great blast she had twenty seven masts
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And we called her the Irish Rover
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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 bales of old nanny-goatsʼ tails
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In the hold of the Irish Rover
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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 McGuirk who was scared stiff of work
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And a chap from Westmeath called Malone
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There was Slugger OʼToole who was drunk as a rule
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And fighting Bill Tratcy 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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We had sailed seven years when the measels broke out
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And our ship lost itʼs 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 captainʼs old dog
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The ship struck a rock, oh Lord what a shock
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The boat, it was flipped right over
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Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned
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Iʼm the last of the Irish Rover
