THE IRISH ROVER

       A                                     D
In the year of our Lord eighteen-hundred and six
       A                          E
We set sail from the coal quay of Cork.
        A                            D
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
        A          E           A
For the grand City Hall in New York.
        A                      E
We'd an elegant craft, she was rigged fore and aft,
    A                       E
And Oh! how the Trade Winds drove her.
        A                                            E
She had twenty-three masts, and she'd 'stood several blasts,
         A                    E A
And they called her the Irish Rover.

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags,
We had two million barrels of bones,
We had three million bales of old nanny-goats' tails,
We had four million barrels of stones,
We had five million hogs, and six million dogs,
And seven million barrels of Porter,
We had eight million sides of old blind horses' hides
In the hold of the Irish Rover.

  (Additions from: ab595@ccn.cs.dal.ca (Robert J. Currie))

There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
And Johnny McGuirk who was scared stiff of work
And a chap from Westmeath named Malone
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
And your man, Mick McGann from the banks of the Bann
Was the Skipper of the Irish Rover.
  (There was Dolan from Clare, just as strong as a bear
  All on board the Irish Rover)

  (For a sailor it's always a botherin' life
  It's so lonesome by night and by day
  That he longs for the shore, and a charming young wife
  Who will melt all his troubles away
  All the noise and the rout, swillin' poteen and stout
  For him is soon done and over
  Of the love of a maid he is never afraid
  That ould salt from the Irish Rover)

We had sailed 7 years when the measles broke out
And our ship lost its way in the fog
Then the whale of a crew were reduced down to two
Myself and captain's ould dog
The ship struck a rock, O Lord, what a shock
The boat was turned right over
Whirled nine times around, then the ould dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover

  (I'm the last of the barons, those buckos so tough
  An ould salt who had weathered the storm
  Be the breezes asleep, or the sea wild and rough
  We were always in top-fighting form
  Oh 'tis we were the boys who had tasted life's joys
  On shore we were all in clover
  For all women and wine, so buxom and fine
  Loved the lad of the Irish Rover.)


(The song is attributed to J.M. Crofts; the book is "Ballad of an Irish 
fireside, Vol 1", published by Walton's Musical Instrument Galleries, 
2,3,4 and 5 North Frederick St., Dublin 1
Copyright 1951)