G5                        C5      
    On the Fourth of July, eighteen hundred and six
           G5                           D5
    We set sail from the sweet Cobh of Cork
            G5                   C5
    We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
            G5          D5           G5
    For the Grand City Hall in New York
            G5
    'Twas a wonderful craft
            D5
    She was rigged fore and aft
        G5                     D5
    And oh, how the wild wind drove her
              G5      
    She stood several blasts
             E5
    She had twenty seven masts
             G5              D5     G5
    And they called her The Irish Rover


           G5                       C5
    We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
           G5                       D5
    We had two million barrels of stone
           G5                          C5
    We had three million sides of old blind horses hides
           G5            D5          G5
    We had four million barrels of bones
           G5
    We had five million hogs
        D5
    And six million dogs
    G5                        D5
    Seven million barrels of porter
           G5                          E5
    We had eight million bails of old nanny-goats' tails
           G5           D5     G5
    In the hold of the Irish Rover


    There was awl Mickey Coote
    Who played hard on his flute
    When the ladies lined up for a set
    He was tootin' with skill
    For each sparkling quadrille
    Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet
    With his smart witty talk
    He was cock of the walk
    And he rolled the dames under and over
    They all knew at a glance
    When he took up his stance
    That he sailed in The Irish Rover

    There was Barney McGee
    From the banks of the Lee
    There was Hogan from County Tyrone
    There was Johnny McGirr
    Who was scared stiff of work
    And a man from Westmeath called Malone
    There was Slugger O'Toole
    Who was drunk as a rule
    And Fighting Bill Treacy from Dover
    And your man, Mick MacCann
    From the banks of the Bann
    Was the skipper of the Irish Rover

    For a sailor it's always a bother in life
    It's so lonesome by night and day
    That he longs for the shore
    And a charming young whore
    Who will melt all his troubles away
    Oh, the noise and the rout
    Swillin' poitin and stout
    For him soon the torment's over
    Of the love of a maid
    He is never afraid
    An old salt from the Irish Rover

    We had sailed seven years
    When the measles broke out
    And the ship lost its 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
    I'm the last of The Irish Rover