| In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and six
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| We set sail from the Coal Quay of Cork
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| We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
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| For the grand City Hall in New York
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| We’d an elegant craft, it was rigged 'fore and aft
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| And how the trade winds drove her
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| She had twenty-three masts and she stood several blasts
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| And they called her the Irish Rover
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| There was Barney Magee from the banks of the Lee
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| There was Hogan from County Tyrone
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| There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work
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| And a chap from Westmeath named Malone
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| There was Slugger O’Toole who was drunk as a rule
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| And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
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| And your man Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann
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| Was the skipper on the Irish Rover
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| We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
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| We had two million barrells of bone
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| We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails
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| We had four million barrells of stone
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| We had five million hogs and six million dogs
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| And seven million barrells of porter
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| We had eight million sides of old blind horses' hides
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| In the hold of the Irish Rover
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| We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
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| And our ship lost her way in a fog
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| And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two
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| 'Twas myself and the captain’s old dog
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| Then the ship struck a rock, oh, Lord what a shock
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| And nearly tumbled over
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| Turned nine times around then the poor old dog was drowned
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| I’m the last of the Irish Rover |