The Irish Rover

by: J.M. Crofts

In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and six, we set sail from the coal quay in Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks, for the grand City Hall of New York
We′d an elegant craft, she was rigged ’fore and aft, and how the Trade Winds drove her
She had twenty three masts and she stood several blasts, and they called her the Irish Ro-ver

There was Barney Magee from the banks of the Lee, there was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGurk, who was scared stiff of work, and a chap from Westmeath named Mallone
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 on the Irish Ro-ver

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags, we had two million barrels of bone
We had three million bales of old nanny goat tails, we had four million barrels of stone
We had five million hogs, 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 Ro-ver

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out, and our ship lost her way in the fog
And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two, ’Twas meself and the captain′s old dog
Then the ship struck a rock, Oh, Lord, what a shock, and nearly tumbled o-ver
Turned her nine times around, then the poor dog was drowned, I’m the last of the Irish Ro-ver

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