The Irish Rover The Dubliners (Ft. The Pogues)

On the fourth of July, eighteen-hundred and six
We set sail from the sweet Cobh 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 bones
We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails
We had four million barrels of stone
We had five million dogs, six million hogs
Seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million hides of old blind horses' eyes
In the hold of the Irish Rover

There was oul' Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute
When the ladies lined up for the set
He would tootle with skill for each sparkling quadrille
Till 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