The Pogues – The Irish Rover (Guitar)

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    On the Fourth of July, eighteen hundred and six

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    We set sail from the sweet Cobh of Cork

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    We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks

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    For the Grand City Hall in New York

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    'Twas a wonderful craft

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    She was rigged fore and aft

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    And oh, how the wild wind drove her

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    She stood several blasts

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    She had twenty seven masts

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    And they called her The Irish Rover

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    We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags

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    We had two million barrels of stone

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    We had three million sides of old blind horses hides

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    We had four million barrels of bones

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    We had five million hogs

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    And six million dogs

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    Seven million barrels of porter

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    We had eight million bails of old nanny-goats' tails

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    In the hold of the Irish Rover

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    There was awl Mickey Coote

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    Who played hard on his flute

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    When the ladies lined up for a set

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    He was tootin' with skill

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    For each sparkling quadrille

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    Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet

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    With his smart witty talk

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    He was cock of the walk

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    And he rolled the dames under and over

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    They all knew at a glance

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    When he took up his stance

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    That he sailed in The Irish Rover

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    There was Barney McGee

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    From the banks of the Lee

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    There was Hogan from County Tyrone

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    There was Johnny McGirr

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    Who was scared stiff of work

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    And a man from Westmeath called Malone

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    There was Slugger O'Toole

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    Who was drunk as a rule

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    And Fighting Bill Treacy from Dover

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    And your man, Mick MacCann

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    From the banks of the Bann

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    Was the skipper of the Irish Rover

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    For a sailor it's always a bother in life

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    It's so lonesome by night and day

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    That he longs for the shore

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    And a charming young whore

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    Who will melt all his troubles away

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    Oh, the noise and the rout

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    Swillin' poitin and stout

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    For him soon the torment's over

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    Of the love of a maid

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    He is never afraid

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    An old salt from the Irish Rover

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    We had sailed seven years

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    When the measles broke out

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    And the ship lost its way in the fog

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    And that whale of a crew

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    Was reduced down to two

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    Just myself and the Captain's old dog

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    Then the ship struck a rock

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    Oh Lord what a shock

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    The bulkhead was turned right over

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    Turned nine times around

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    And the poor old dog was drowned

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    I'm the last of The Irish Rover