The Pogues - The Irish Rover

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On the Fourth of July, 1806
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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 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 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 stone
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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 And six million dogs
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Seven million barrels of porter
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We had eight million bails of old nanny-goats' 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
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