On the 4th of July, 1806, we set sail from the sweet Cove of Cork.We were sailing away, with a cargo of clay, for the Grand City Hall in New York.T'was a wonderful craft, she was rigged for and apt.Do you know how the wild wind drove her?She stood several blasts, she had 27 masts, and they called her the Irish Rover.We had one million bags, of the best Sligo rags.We had two million barrels of stone.We had three million sides, of all blind horses' hides.We had four million barrels of bone.We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs.We had seven million barrels of potter.We had nine million bales, of old Nanny Goat's tales, on board of the Irish Rover.There was old Mickey Coot, who played hard on his flute, when the ladies lined up for the set.He would tootle with skill, for each sparkling quadrille, till the dancers were flutered and bet.With his smart witty talk, he was cock of the walk, as he rode the James under and over.When he took up his stance, they all knew at a glance, that he sailed in the Irish Rover.There was Barney McGee, from the banks of the Lee.There was Hogan, from County Tyrone.And Mickey McGurk, who was scared stiff of work.And a chap from Westmeath, named Malone.There was Slugger O'Toole, who was drunk as a rill.And fightin' Bill Tracy from Dover.There was Dolan from Clare, just as strong as a bear.All on board of the Irish Rover.We had sailed seven years, when the measles broke out.And the ship lost its way in the fog.Then that whale of a crew, was reduced down to two.Just meself and the captain's owl dog.Then the ship struck a rock, oh lord what a shock.The boat, it was turned right over.Turned nine times around, then the owl dog was drowned.I'm the last of the Irish Rover.