Текстове на песни: Pogues, The. The Irish Rover.

:
'Twas 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

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 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



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

And the last of The Irish Rover