The Pogues, "The Irish Rover" from The Best of the Pogues (The Last Angry Irishman)
Commentary: There are no happy endings in Irish traditional & folk music, only varying degrees of melancholy & misadventure.
"On the fourth of July, Eighteen Hundred and Six,Irish Rover…
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 O how the wild winds drove her!
She stood several blasts, she had twenty-seven masts,
And they called her the
"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 meself and the captain's old dog.
Then the ship struck a rock, O Lord what a shock!
The bulkhead was turned right over,
Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned,
I'm the last of the Irish Rover!"