The Irish Rover. (Trad)


In the year of our lord eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the coal quay of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand city hall in New York
‘She was a elegant craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft
And oh, how the wild winds drove her
She’d stood several blasts, she had twenty-seven masts
And we called her the Irish Rover

Chorus

So fare thee well my pretty little girl I must sail away

So fare thee well my pretty little girl I must sail away


There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Jimmy McGurk who was scarred stiff of work
And a man from Westmeath called Malone
There was Slugger O’Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracey from Dover
And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper of 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 bones
We had five million hogs, had 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


We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And the ship lost its way in a fog
And that whale of the crew was reduced down to two
Just meself 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



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