The Irish Rover

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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[modifica | modifica sorgente]

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[modifica | modifica sorgente]

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
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