Pogues – The Irish Rover Chords

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 stone
We had three million sides of old blind horses hides, we had four million barrels of bones
We had five million hogs, and 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

There was awl Mickey Coote, who played hard on his flute, when the ladies lined up for a set
He was tooting with skill, for each sparkling quadrille, though the dancers were fluthered 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

There was Barney McGee, from the banks of the Lee, there was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGirr, who was scared stiff of work, and a man from Westmeath called Malone
There was Slugger O’Toole, who was drunk as a rule, and Fighting Bill Treacy from Dover
And your man, Mick MacCann, from the banks of the Bann, was the skipper of the Irish Rover

For a sailor it’s always a bother in life, it’s so lonesome by night and day
That he longs for the shore, and a charming young whore, who will melt all his troubles away
Oh, the noise and the rout, swilling poiting and stout, for him soon the torment’s over
Of the love of a maid, he is never afraid, an old salt from the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years, when the measles broke out, and the ship lost its way in the fog
And that whale of a crew, was reduced down to two, just myself and the Captain’s old dog
Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord what a shock, the bulkhead was turned right over
Turned nine times around, and the poor old dog was drowned, I’m the last of The Irish Rover