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

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