On the fourth of July eighteen hundred and six, We set sail from the sweet cobh of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks for the grand city hall in New York
'Twas a wonderful craft, She was rigged fore and aft, And oh, how the wild winds drove her
She'd several blasts, She'd twenty-seven 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 old blind horses hides, We had four million barrels of bones
We had five million hogs, And six million dogs, Seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million bails of old nanny goats tails, In the hold of the Irish Rover
We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out, And the ship lost it's way in the fog
And that whale of a crew was reduced down to two, Just myself and the captain's old dog
Then the ship struck a rock, Oh Lord what a shock, The bulkhead was turned right over
Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned, And the last of the Irish Rover
