Pogues — Irish Rover

    	    	Вступление

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    Оn the Fourth of July, eighteen hundred and six 
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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 an elegant craft rigged fore and aft 
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    And oh, how the wild wind drove her 
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    She could stand a great blast    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 We had five million hogs 
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    And six million dogs    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 Who played hard on his flute 
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    When the ladies lined up for a set He was tootin' with skill 
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    For each sparkling quadrille Though the dancers were 
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    fluther'd and bet 
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    With his smart witty talk He was cock of the walk 
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    And he rolled the dames under and over 
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    They all knew at a glance 
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    When he took up his stance That he sailed in The Irish Rover 
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    There was Barney McGee From the banks of the Lee 
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    There was Hogan from County Tyrone There was Johnny McGirk 
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    Who was scared stiff of work & a chap from Westmeath 
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    called Malone 
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    There was Slugger О'Toole drunk as a rule 
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    Fighting Bill Treacy from Dover And your man, Mick MacCann 
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    From the banks of the Bann Was the skipper of the Irish Rover 
      
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    We had sailed seven years When the measles broke out  
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    And the ship lost its way in the fog And that whale of a crew 
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    Was reduced down to two Just myself and the Captain's old dog 
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    Then the ship struck a rock Оh Lord what a shock 
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    The boat it flipped right over Turned nine times around 
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    And the poor old dog was drowned I'm the last 
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    of The Irish Rover