Electrics Irish Rover
It was the 4th of July 1806, we set sail form the sweet
cove of Cork,
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks for the Grand
City Hall in New York,
T’was 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’d two million barrels of stone,
And we’d three million sides of old blind horses hides,
four million barrels of bones,
five million hogs, six million dogs, seven million
barrels of porter,
And we’d eight million bails of old nanny goats tales in
the hold of the Irish Rover.
We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out and
the ship lost its way in a fog,
And the whale of a crew was reduced down to two: myself
and the captain’s old dog,
Then the ship struck a rock – oh, Lord, what a shock,
The bulkhead was turned right over,
She turned nine times around and the poor old dog was
drowned, and the last of the Irish Rover
