Irish Rover

(albüm: Wall Of Folk - 2011)

On the fourth of July eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grad city hall in New York
'T was a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft
And oh, how the wild winds drove her
She got several blasts, she had twenty-seven masts
And they called her the Irish Rover

We had one million bales of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of rum
We had three million sides of old blind horses hides
We had four million barrels of bones
We had five million hogs, six million dogs
Seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million bails of old nanny goats' tails
In the hold of the Irish Rover

There was awl Mickey Coote who playes hard on his flute
When the ladies lined up for his set
He would tootle with skill for each sparkling quadrille
Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet
With his sparse witty talk he was cock of the walk
As he rolled the dames under and over
And they knew at a glance when he took up his stance
They sailed in the Irish Rover

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 fighthing Bill Tracey from Dover
And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And the ship lost it's way in a fog
And that whale of the crew was reduced down to two
Just myself 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 dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover