Irish Rover
On the Fourth of July, 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 wind drove her
She stood several blasts
She had twenty seven masts
And they called her The Irish Rover.
We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of stone
We had three million sides of old blind horses hides
We had four million barrels of bones
We had five million hogs
And six million dogs
Seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million bails of old nanny-goats' tails
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 McGurk
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.
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
And the las of The Irish Rover.
O Irlandês Viajante
No Quatro de Julho, mil oitocentos e seis
Zarpamos da doce enseada de Cork
Estávamos navegando com uma carga de tijolos
Para a Grande Prefeitura em Nova York
Era uma embarcação maravilhosa
Estava armada de proa a popa
E oh, como o vento forte a empurrava
Ela aguentou várias rajadas
Tinha vinte e sete mastros
E a chamavam de O Irlandês Viajante.
Tínhamos um milhão de sacos dos melhores trapos de Sligo
Tínhamos dois milhões de barris de pedra
Tínhamos três milhões de peles de velhos cavalos cegos
Tínhamos quatro milhões de barris de ossos
Tínhamos cinco milhões de porcos
E seis milhões de cães
Sete milhões de barris de cerveja
Tínhamos oito milhões de caudas de velhas cabras
No porão do Irlandês Viajante.
Havia o Mickey Coote
Que tocava forte sua flauta
Quando as damas se alinhavam para dançar
Ele tocava com habilidade
Para cada quadrilha brilhante
Embora os dançarinos estivessem bêbados e em pé
Com seu papo esperto
Ele era o rei do pedaço
E fazia as damas rodopiar
Todos sabiam de relance
Quando ele tomava sua posição
Que ele navegava no Irlandês Viajante.
Havia Barney McGee
Das margens do Lee
Havia Hogan do Condado de Tyrone
Havia Johnny McGurk
Que tinha medo de trabalhar
E um homem de Westmeath chamado Malone
Havia Slugger O'Toole
Que estava sempre bêbado
E o Luta Bill Treacy de Dover
E o seu homem, Mick MacCann
Das margens do Bann
Era o capitão do Irlandês Viajante.
Navegamos por sete anos
Quando a sarampo estourou
E o navio se perdeu na neblina
E aquela tripulação enorme
Foi reduzida a dois
Só eu e o velho cachorro do capitão
Então o navio bateu em uma rocha
Oh Senhor! que choque
O compartimento virou completamente
Virou nove vezes
E o pobre velho cachorro se afogou
E a última do Irlandês Viajante.