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