title: The Irish Rover
text: # 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
  