Songtexte The Last of the Irish Rover - The Irish Rovers
In
the
year
of
Our
Lord,
Eighteen-Hundred
and
Six,
We
set
sail
from
the
cold
bay
of
Cork.
We
were
sailing
away
with
a
cargo
of
bricks
for
the
grand
city
hall
in
New
York.
We'd
an
elegant
craft,
she
was
rigged
fore
and
aft,
And
Lord!,
how
the
trade
winds
drove
her,
We
had
twenty-three
masts,
and
she
stood
several
blasts,
And
they
called
her
the
Irish
Rover.
There
was
Barney
McGee
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
West
Meath
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
of
the
Irish
Rover.
We
had
one
million
bags
of
the
best
Sligo
rags,
we
had
two
million
barrells
of
stone,
We
had
three
million
bales
of
old
nanny
goat's
tails,
we
had
four
million
barrels
of
stone,
We
had
five
million
hogs,
and
six
million
dogs,
and
seven
milliion
barrels
of
porter,
We
had
eight
million
sides
of
blind
horse's
hides
in
the
hold
of
the
Irish
Rover.
We
had
sailed
seven
years
when
the
measles
broke
out,
and
our
ship
lost
its
way
in
the
fog,
And
the
whole
of
the
crew
was
reduced
down
to
two,
'Twas
meself
and
the
captain's
old
dog.
Then
the
ship
struck
a
rock,
Oh
Lord!,
what
a
shock,
we
nearly
tumbled
over.
Turned
nine
times
around,
and
the
poor
old
dog
was
drowned.
I'm
the
last
of
the
Irish
Rover.

1 The Last of the Irish Rover
2 Wasn't That a Party?
3 Rolling Home To Ireland
4 Good Luck To the Barleymow
5 The Gypsy Rover
6 Whiskey On a Sunday (The Puppet Song)
7 Lily the Pink
8 Turra Market
9 Donald Where's Your Trousers?
10 The Star of the County Down
11 Orange and the Green
12 My Boy Willie
13 Rolling Home To Ireland
14 Donald Where's Your Trousers?
15 Lily the Pink
16 Whiskey On a Sunday (The Puppet Song)
17 The Gypsy Rover
18 Good Luck To the Barleymow
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