And the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and six We set sail from the port quay of Cork We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks For the grand City Hall in New York We'd a near-leaking craft, she was rigged fore and aft And how the trade winds drove her She had twenty-three masts and she stood several blasts And they called her the Irish Rover And there was Bobby McGee from the banks of the Leith There was Hogan from county Tyrone There was John D. McGirk, who was scared stiff of work And a chap from Westmeath named Malone We had Slugger O'Toole, who was drunk as a rule And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover And your man, Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann Was the skipper of the Irish Rover We had two million barrels of pone We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails We had four million barrels of stone We had five million hogs and six million dogs Seven million barrels of porter We had eight million sides of a blind horses' hides In the hold of the Irish Rover We had sailed seven years when the mizzens broke out And the ship lost her way in the fog And the whale of a crew was reduced down to two 'Twas meself and the captain's old dog Well, the ship struck a rock, oh, Lord what a shock I nearly tumbled over Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned I'm the last of the Irish Rover