In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the fair Cobh 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 Malone
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
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