| We set sail from the sweet Cove of Cork
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| We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
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| For the Grand City Hall in New York
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| 'Twas a wonderful craft
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| She was rigged fore and aft
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| And oh, how the wild wind drove her
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| She stood several blasts
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| She had twenty seven masts
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| And they called her The Irish Rover
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| We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
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| We had two million barrels of stones
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| We had three million sides of old blind horses hides'
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| We had four million barrels of bones
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| We had five million hogs
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| Six million dogs
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| Seven million barrels of porter
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| We had eight million sides of old nanny goate tails
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| In the hold of the Irish Rover
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| There was awl Mickey Coote
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| Who played hard on his flute
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| And the ladies lined up for a set
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| He would tootle with skill
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| For each sparkling quadrille
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| Though the dancers were fluther’d and bet
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| With his smart witty talk
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| He was cock of the walk
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| As he rolled the dames under and over
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| They all knew at a glance
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| When he took up his stance
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| That he sailed in The Irish Rover
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| There was Barney McGee
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| From the banks of the Lee
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| There was Hogan from County Tyrone
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| There was Johnny McGurk
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| Who was scared stiff of work
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| And a man from Westmeath called Malone
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| There was Slugger O’Toole
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| Who was drunk as a rule
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| And Fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
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| And your man, Mick McCann
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| From the banks of the Bann
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| Was the skipper of the Irish Rover
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| For a sailor its' always a bother in life
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| It’s so lonesome by night and by day
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| That he longs for the shore
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| And a charming young whore
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| Who will melt all his troubles away
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| Oh, the noise and the rout
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| Swillin' poiteen and stout
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| For him soon the torment’s over
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| Of the love of a maid he is never afraid
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| An old salt from the Irish Rover
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| We had sailed seven years
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| When the measles broke out
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| And the ship lost its way in the fog
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| And that whale of a crew
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| Was reduced down to two
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| Just myself and the Captain’s old dog
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| Then the ship struck a rock
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| Oh Lord! |
| what a shock
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| The bulkhead was turned right over
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| Turned nine times around
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| And the poor old dog was drowned (1, 2, 3!)
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| I’m the last of The Irish Rover |