On the fourth of July eighteen hundred and six br We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork br We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks br For the grand city hall in New York br 'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft br And oh, how the wild winds drove her. br She'd got several blasts, she'd twenty-seven masts br And we called her the Irish Rover. br br We had one million bales of the best Sligo rags br We had two million barrels of stones br We had three million sides of old blind horses hides, br We had four million barrels of bones. br We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs, br Seven million barrels of porter. br We had eight million bails of old nanny goats' tails, br In the hold of the Irish Rover. br br There was awl Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute br When the ladies lined up for his set br He was tootin' with skill for each sparkling quadrille br Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet br With his sparse witty talk he was cock of the walk br As he rolled the dames under and over br They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance br And he sailed in the Irish Rover br br There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee, br There was Hogan from County Tyrone br There was Jimmy McGurk who was scarred stiff of work br And a man from Westmeath called Malone br There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule br And fighting Bill Tracey from Dover br And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann br Was the skipper of the Irish Rover br br We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out br And the ship lost it's way in a fog. br And that whale of the crew was reduced down to two, br Just meself and the captain's old dog.