G O n t he f o ur th o f july, C 1 806, we s et G s ail f r om t he s weet c ov e o f D 7 Cork
W e wer e G sailing awa y wit h a C c argo o f brick s, f or the G gr and cit y D 7 h all in Ne w G York ‘t was a won der f ul cra f t, she was D 7 rigged f ore and a f t A nd G oh, ho w t he wild win d D 7 dr ov e her S he stoo d G sever al blasts, she ha d C t went y sev en masts A nd the y G called her the D 7 Iris h G rov er
W e ha d o ne million ba gs o f the best sligo rags, we had t wo million
b arr els o f st one W e ha d t hree million sides o f old blind hor ses hid es , we h ad f our million b arr els o f bo nes W e ha d f ive million ho gs, we h ad six million dogs S eve n million b arr els o f p ort er W e ha d eight million bails o f old n an ny-g oats t ails In the hold o f t he Irish rover
T her e was awl Micke y Coot e, wh o pla ye d har d o n his f l ut e
W h e n t he ladies line d u p f or a s et He was t oot lin’ wit h skil, f or eac h sparkling qu adrille T hou gh the da ncers wer e f l ut h er ’d and bet W it h his smart witt y t alk, he was cock o f t he walk A nd he rolled t he d am es un der an d ov er T he y all knew at a glance, whe n he took u p his st anc e T hat he sailed in the Irish rov er
T her e was Bar ne y McG ee, f r om the ba nk s o f t he L ee
T her e was Hog an fr om count y Tyrone T her e was Joh nn y McGurk, wh o was scar ed sti ff o f work A nd a man f r om W e stmeat h c alled Malone T her e was slug ger o’Toole, who was dr unk as a rule A nd f ig ht ing Bill Treac y f r om Dov er A nd yo ur man, Mick McCann, f r om the ba nk s o f t he B ann W as the skipper on the Irish rover
W e ha d sailed seven ye ars, whe n the measles br ok e out
A nd the ship lost his wa y in t he f og A nd that whale o f a crew, was reduc ed do wn t o t wo Just m yself a nd the capt ain’s old do g T hen the ship struck a rock, o h lord wh at a s hock T he b ulkhea d was t urne d right ov er Turned nine tim es ar oun d, a nd the po or old d og was dr owne d A nd the last o f t he Irish rover