Sheridan Rúitín - The Irish Rover

Happy Paddy's Day! We had a great time playing this one over at Legendary Tommy's Fireside Pub.

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Shannon Cokeley - Guitar/Vocals
Billy Houlihan - Banjo/Vocals
Johnny Houlihan - Melodeon/Vocals
Tommy Ma - Bodhran/Vocals
John Damiano - Drums
Michael "Zeus" Zayas - Bass
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Filmed by Jess Mazzarella
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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 ol’ Mickey Coote, 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.

There was Barney McGee, from the banks of the Lee, there was Hogan from County Tyrone,
There was Johnny McGurk, 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, swillin' poitin 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.
Was the last of the Irish Rover.