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 grand City Hall
in New York
'twas a wonderful craft
she was
rigged for and aft
and oh how the wild
wind drove her
She stood several blasts
she had twenty-seven
masts
and they called her
the Irish Rover
We had one-million bags
of the best Sligo rags
we had two million
barrels of stones
We had three million
sides of old blind
horses hides
we had four million
barrels of bones
We had five million hogs
and 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 played
hard on his flute
when the ladies
lined up for a set
He was tootlin' with skill
for each sparkling
quadrille
though the dancers were
fluther'd and bet
With his smart witty talk
he was cock of the walk
and 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 sailed seven
years when the measles
broke out and the
ship lost it's
way in the fog
And that whale of a crew
was reduced
down to two
just meself 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 old dog was
drowned and the
last of the Irish Rover
The ship
struck a rock
Oh Lord what a shock
the bulkhead was
turned right over
Turned nine times around
and the poor old dog was
drowned and the
last of the Irish Rover
