On the Fourth of July, eighteen hundred and six,
We set sail from the cold quay of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks,
For the grand city hall in New York
Our ship was a craft, rigged fore and aft,
And oh, how the wild winds drove her
She had twenty-three masts, and stood several blasts
And they called her, the Irish Rover
There was Barney McGee, from the Banks of the Lee,
There was Hogan from County Tyrone,
Johnny McGurk, who was scared still of work,
And a man from West Meath, named Malone
Slugger O'Toole, was drunk as a rule,
And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
And your man Mick McCann from the Banks Bann
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover
We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
Two million barrels of bones
Three million bails of old nanny goat tails
Four million barrels of stone
Five million hogs, six million dogs
Seven million barrels of porter
Eight million sides of old blind horses' hides
In the hold of the Irish Rover
We had sailed several years, when the measles broke out
Our ship lost its way in the fog
Then the whale of the crew was reduced down to two
Meself and the Captain's old dog
Then the ship stuck a rock, oh lord what a shock
The boat it turned right over, it turned nine times around,
And the poor old dog was drowned,
I'm the last of the Irish Rover
We set sail from the cold quay of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks,
For the grand city hall in New York
Our ship was a craft, rigged fore and aft,
And oh, how the wild winds drove her
She had twenty-three masts, and stood several blasts
And they called her, the Irish Rover
There was Barney McGee, from the Banks of the Lee,
There was Hogan from County Tyrone,
Johnny McGurk, who was scared still of work,
And a man from West Meath, named Malone
Slugger O'Toole, was drunk as a rule,
And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
And your man Mick McCann from the Banks Bann
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover
We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
Two million barrels of bones
Three million bails of old nanny goat tails
Four million barrels of stone
Five million hogs, six million dogs
Seven million barrels of porter
Eight million sides of old blind horses' hides
In the hold of the Irish Rover
We had sailed several years, when the measles broke out
Our ship lost its way in the fog
Then the whale of the crew was reduced down to two
Meself and the Captain's old dog
Then the ship stuck a rock, oh lord what a shock
The boat it turned right over, it turned nine times around,
And the poor old dog was drowned,
I'm the last of the Irish Rover