On the fourth of July eighteen hundred and six

We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork

We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks

For the grand city hall in New York

´Twas an elegant craft, she was rigged fore and aft

And how the wild wind drove her

She could stand a great blast in her twenty seven masts

And we called her the Irish Rover



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 bone

We had five million hogs, six million dogs

Seven million barrels of porter

We had eight million bales of old nanny goats tails

In the hold of the Irish Rover



There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee

There was Hogan from County Tyrone

There was Johnny McGuirk who was scared stiff of work

And a chap from Westmeath called Malone

There was Slugger O´Toole who was drunk as a rule

And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover

There was Dolan from Clare, just as strong as a bear

All aboard on the Irish Rover



We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out

And our ship lost it´s way in the fog

Then the whole of the crew was reduced down to two

Just myself and the captain´s old dog

The ship struck a rock, Lord what a shock

The boat it flipped right over

Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned

I´m the last of the Irish Rover