On the 4th of July,
1806,
we set sail from the sweet Cove of Orr.
We were sailing away with
a cargo of rigs
for the Grand City Hall in New York.
T 'was a wonderful crowd,
she was rigged for an aft.
Oh, how the wild wind drove over
She conserved a blast,
she had twenty -seven masts
And they call her the Irish Rover
We had one million packs
of the best like rags
We had two million bottles of stones
We had three million sides
of a blind foresight
We had four million bottles of bones
We had five million hawks
and six million ducks
Seven million barrels of water
We had eight million bays
of banana goat tails
In the hold of the Irish Rover
That was old Mickey Coot
who played hard on his flute
when the ladies lined up for his set.
He was tooting whiskey
for his sparkling quadrille,
though the dancers were flubber and met.
With his parts we'd talk,
he was cock of the walk
As he rode the Thames under and over
They all knew at a glance,
when he took up his stance
That he sailed in the Irish Rover
There was Barney McGee,
from the banks of the Lee
There was Hogan for County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGurk,
who was Kerstie for work
And a man from Westmeath called Malone
There was Lager O'Toole,
he was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
And your man, Mim again,
from the bands of the men
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover
In a sail seven years,
when the measles broke out
And the ship lost its way in the bog
And the dwell of the crew
was reduced down to two
Just myself and the captain,
so I thought
Then the ship struck a rock,
oh Lord, what a shock!
The boat was turned right over.
Then the knight turns around,
and the poor dog was drowned.
I'm the last of the Irish Rover!
Then the ship struck a rock,
Oh God, what a shock!
The boat was turned right over,
Turned nine times around,
And the poor dog was drowned.
I'm the last of the Ir ish Rover!