Well in the year of our Lord 1806,
We set sail from the sweet Cove of Cork,
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks ,
For the Grand City Hall in New York,
Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore and aft,
And oh, how the wild winds drove her,
She stood twenty seven masts, she had twenty seven blasts,
And they called her The Irish Rover.

Well there was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee,
And was Hogan from County Tyrone,
There had old Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work,
And this man from Westmeath called Malone,
There was Slugger O'Toole he was as drunk as a rule,
And Fighting Bill Treacy from Dover,
And your man, Mick McCann from the bank of the Bann,
Was the skipper on the Irish Rover.

For we had sailed several years when the measles broke out,
And the ship lost her way in the fog,
And our whale of a crew was reduced down to two,
Meself and the Captain's old dog,
The ship struck a rock, Lord, what a shock,
The whole boat she near turned right over,
She spun nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned,
And I'm the last of the Irish Rover.

And I'm the last of the Irish Rover.