| In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and six | 
| We set sail from the Coal Quay of Cork | 
| We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks | 
| For the grand City Hall in New York | 
| We’d an elegant craft, it 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 | 
| There was Barney Magee from the banks of the Lee | 
| There was Hogan from County Tyrone | 
| There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work | 
| And a chap from Westmeath named Malone | 
| There was 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 on the Irish Rover | 
| We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags | 
| We had two million barrells of bone | 
| We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails | 
| We had four million barrells of stone | 
| We had five million hogs and six million dogs | 
| And seven million barrells of porter | 
| We had eight million sides of old blind horses' hides | 
| In the hold of the Irish Rover | 
| We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out | 
| And our ship lost her way in a fog | 
| And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two | 
| 'Twas myself and the captain’s old dog | 
| Then the ship struck a rock, oh, Lord what a shock | 
| And nearly tumbled over | 
| Turned nine times around then the poor old dog was drowned | 
| I’m the last of the Irish Rover |