The Irish Rover

The Irish Rover är låten som handlar om ett skepp med ett taskigt slut! Det är en gammal irländsk visa som hart spelats in i många versioner och man räknar med att det finns fyra versioner som används idag. Ingen av dem är exakt lika men idag är alla ok. Originalversionen sjunger bland annat om att en av masterna knäcks men när någon har lyssnat och sen skrivit ner texten blir det istället att mässlingen har brutit ut. Anledningen är att orden är väldigt lika på engelska. Vi bifogar versionen som land annat Dubliners och Pogues spelar;


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 bales 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 would tootle 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 McGirk
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
I'm the last of The Irish Rover