The Irish Rover
# The Irish Rover

The Irish Rover è una canzone tradizionale irlandese che parla del disastro in mare di un vascello in viaggio dall'Irlanda all'America. È stata cantata e registrata da numerosi artisti, alcuni dei quali hanno apportato modifiche al testo.

## Testo originale

    In the year of our lord, 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 how the wild winds drove her
    She had twenty-three masts, she 'stood several blasts
    And they called her 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 named Malone
    There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
    And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
    And your man Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann
    Was the skipper on the Irish Rover
    We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
    We had two million barrels of stones
    We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails
    We had four million barrels of bones
    We had five million hogs and six million dogs
    And seven million barrels of porter
    We had eight million sides of old blind horses' hides
    On the board of the Irish Rover
    We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
    And our ship lost her way in the fog
    And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two
    'Twas meself and the captain's old dog
    Then the ship struck a rock; oh Lord what a shock
    The bulkhead was turned right over
    We turned nine times around - then the poor old dog got drowned
    Now I'm the last of the Irish Rover

## Varianti

La versione cantata dai The Pogues e dai The Dubliners ha due strofe che non fanno parte del testo tradizionale.

    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
    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

Ci sono inoltre altri piccoli cambiamenti nella versione dei The Pogues:

Prima strofa, primo verso:

    On the Fourth of July, Eighteen Hundred and Six

Prima strofa, quinto verso:

    'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft

Prima strofa, penultimo verso:

    She stood several blasts, she had twenty-seven masts
