The Irish Rover
In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the fair Cobh of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand city hall in New York
't Was a wonderfull craft she was rigged for and aft
And oh how the wild winds drove her
She had twenty seven masts and withstood several blasts
And we called her the Irish Rover
There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lea
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work
And a man from West Meade called Mallone
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracey from Dover
And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the Ban
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover
There was old Mickey Coot who played hard on his flute
And the ladies went down in a dance
There was Darren Kilgour and a charming French whore
Sitting down all the night on his lap
There was Mason McGreig who was drunk as a brick
Oh God he was seldom sober
He went down in the bar and he puked in a jar
Oh God what a mess he left over
We had one million bales of old billy goats' tails
We had two million barrels of stones
We had three million sides of old blind horses hides
We had four million packets of bones
We had five million hogs and six million dogs
And seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million bags of the best Sligo rags
In the hold of the Irish Rover
We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And the ship lost its way in the fog
And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two
't Was myself and the captain's old dog
Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord what a shock
The boat it had turned right over
Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover
O Irlandês Viajante
No ano de nosso Senhor mil oitocentos e seis
Zarpamos do belo Cobh, em Cork
Estávamos navegando com uma carga de tijolos
Para a grande câmara municipal em Nova York
Era uma embarcação maravilhosa, com velas na proa e na popa
E como os ventos selvagens a empurravam
Ela tinha vinte e sete mastros e aguentou várias tempestades
E a chamávamos de Irlandês Viajante
Tinha o Barney McGee das margens do Lea
Tinha o Hogan do Condado de Tyrone
Tinha o Johnny McGurk que tinha medo de trabalhar
E um cara de West Meade chamado Mallone
Tinha o Slugger O'Toole que era bêbado por regra
E o briguento Bill Tracey de Dover
E o Mick McCann das margens do Ban
Era o capitão do Irlandês Viajante
Tinha o velho Mickey Coot que tocava flauta
E as moças dançavam ao som
Tinha o Darren Kilgour e uma charmosa prostituta francesa
Sentada em seu colo a noite toda
Tinha o Mason McGreig que era bêbado como um porco
Oh Deus, ele raramente estava sóbrio
Ele desceu pro bar e vomitou num pote
Oh Deus, que bagunça ele deixou
Tínhamos um milhão de fardos de caudas de bodes velhos
Tínhamos dois milhões de barris de pedras
Tínhamos três milhões de peles de cavalos cegos
Tínhamos quatro milhões de pacotes de ossos
Tínhamos cinco milhões de porcos e seis milhões de cães
E sete milhões de barris de cerveja
Tínhamos oito milhões de sacos dos melhores trapos de Sligo
No porão do Irlandês Viajante
Navegamos por sete anos quando a sarampo estourou
E o navio se perdeu na neblina
E toda a tripulação foi reduzida a dois
Era eu e o velho cachorro do capitão
Então o navio bateu numa rocha, oh Senhor, que choque
A embarcação virou completamente
Virou nove vezes e o pobre cachorro se afogou
Sou o último do Irlandês Viajante