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

Wed an elegant craft, it 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 Rover

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 Malone

There was Slugger OToole, who was drunk as a rule

And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover

And your man Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann

Was the skipper on the Irish Rover

There was awl Mickey Coote, who played hard on his flute

When the ladies lined up for his set

He was tooting with skill for each sparkling quadrille

Though the dancers were furthered and bet

With his sparse, witty talk he was cock of the walk

As he rolled the dames under and over

They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance

That he sailed in the Irish Rover

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags

We had two million barrells of bone

We had three million bales of old nanny goats tails

We had four million barrells of stone

We had five million hogs and six million dogs

And seven million barrells of porter

We had eight million sides of old blind horses hides

In the hold of the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out

And our ship lost her way in a fog

And a whale of a crew was reduced down to two

Twas myself and the captains old dog

Then the ship struck a rock, oh, Lord what a shock

And nearly tumbled over

Turned nine times around, then the poor old dog was drowned

Im the last of the Irish Rover