Jul 15, 2006
It's too early in the morning and I am podcasting after finishing an episode of the Renaissance Festival podcast dedicated to pirates.
words and music traditional
In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the cold Cobh of Cork.
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand city hall of New York.
In an elegant craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft
And oh, how the trade winds drove her.
She had twenty-three masts and withstood 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 chap from West Meade called Mallone.
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Casey from Dover.
And a man Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper in the Irish Rover.
We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of bones.
We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails,
We had four million barrels of stones.
We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs,
We had six million barrels of porter.
We had eight million sides of old blind horses hides,
In the hold of the Irish Rover.
We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And the ship lost her way in a fog. (big fog)
And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two,
Myself and the captain's old dog. (small dog woof)
Then the ship struck a rock. Lord, what a shock!
Then she heeled right over,
She spun nine times around, and the poor old dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover.
words and music by Dominic Behan
Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing,
For the love of one's country is a terrible thing.
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame,
And it makes us all part of the patriot game.
My name is O'Hanlon, and I've just turned sixteen.
My home is in Monaghan, and where I was weaned
I learned all my life cruel England's to blame,
So now I am part of the patriot game.
This Ireland of ours has too long been half free.
Six counties lie under John Bull's tyranny.
But still De Valera is greatly to blame
For shirking his part in the Patriot game.
They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair,
His wounds from the fighting all bloody and bare.
His fine body twisted, all battered and lame
They soon made me part of the patriot game.
It's nearly two years since I wandered away
With the local battalion of the bold IRA,
For I read of our heroes, and wanted the same
To play out my part in the patriot game.
[extra verse I found]
I don't mind a bit if I shoot down police
They are lackeys for war never guardians of peace
And yet at deserters I'm never let aim
The rebels who sold out the patriot game
And now as I lie here, my body all holes
I think of those traitors who bargained in souls
And I wish that my rifle had given the same
To those Quislings who sold out the patriot game.
Lyrics to Patriot Game found here.