In the year of our Lord Eighteen Hundred and Six
We set sail from the coal quay at Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand city hall in New York
We'd an elegant craft she was rigged fore and aft
And how the trade winds drove her
She had twenty three masts and she stood sev'ral blasts
And they called her the Irish Rover

There was Barney Magee from the banks of the Lee
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work,
And a chap from Westmeath named Malone.
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper on the Irish Rover

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of bone
We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails
We had four million barrels of stone
We had five million hogs and six million dogs
And seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million sides of old blind horses' hides
In the hold of the Irish Rover

There was old Mickey Boot who played hard on his flute
When the ladies lined up for a set
He would tootle with skill for each sparkling quadrille
Till the dancers were flutered and beat
With his elegant talk he was cock of the walk
And he rolled the dames under and over
When he took up his stance you could tell at a glance
That he sailed on the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And our ship lost her way in a fog
And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two
'Twas myself and the captain's old dog
Then the ship struck a rock Oh Lord what a shock
And nearly tumbled over
Turned nine times around then the poor old dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover