Traditional Lyrics: Frederic E. Weatherly
In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and six We set sail from the county of Cork. We were bound far away with a cargo of bricks For the fine city hall of New York. In a very fine craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft And oh, how the wild winds drove her. She had twenty-three masts and withstood several blasts And we called her the Irish Rover. There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee, There was Hogan from County Tyrone. And a chap called McGurk who was scared stiff of work And a chap from West Meade called Mellone. There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule And fighting Bill Casey from Dover. There was Dooley from Claire who was strong as a bear And was skipper of the Irish Rover. We had one million bales of old billy goats' tails, We had two million buckets of stones. We had three million sides of old blind horses hides, We had four million packets of bones. We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs, And seven million barrels of porter. We had eight million bags of the best Sligo rags In the hold of the Irish Rover. We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out And the ship lost her way in a fog. And the whole of the crew was reduced unto two, 'Twas myself and the captain's old dog. Then the ship struck a rock with a terrible shock And then she heeled right over, Turned nine times around, and the poor dog was drowned-- I'm the last of the Irish Rover.