IRISH ROVER AND THE CREW® :: Irish Rovers's Lyrics


® 
LYRICS BY ROVER
AUTHENTIC SONGS PUBLISHED IN 2006.
PROUDLY INTRODUCING "MISSING IRELAND", COLLECTION OF LYRICS:

I am pleased to announce that my own lyrics and work are completely protected today. Major agencies for protecting
intellectual property were contacted, neccessary fees are paid, complete work is registered and all rights reserved in
those terms. Collection of nine lyrics under name "Missing Ireland", features my own work from 2005. until today and
represents valuable material for my first album. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ANY UNAUTHORIZED USE OF THE LYRICS OR INTELLECTUAL
IDEAS IS A SERIOUS VIOLATION OF INTERNATIONAL AND DOMESTIC LAWS.
Registration numbers: 14771/06 A at Intellectual Property Office Of Serbia, K-73/06 at Authors' Agency For Serbia A.D.
for protection of copyright and related rights, authors' contract was signed as SOKOJ and cooperation established.
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AUTHENTIC ORIGINAL SONGS by Rover:
- ALL RIGHTS RESERVED -

MISSING IRELAND

Now I'm sad and far away
but fear not my dear old Ireland,
I'm coming home one sunny day.

Politicians, fuckin' whores,
let me see the Irish shores,
F YEZ ALL and all your laws,
I'm far away from home.

Stuck in bloody land of hell,
sadness, sorrows, here on sell,
no one rings the Paddy's bell,
I'm far away from home.

Aisling, me and Irish dream,
purest stuff of land in green,
buried here, in me, within',
I'm far away from home.

I bloody miss it now,
the heart it screams in pain,
missing, missing, missing,
it beats like drops of rain.

I bloody miss it now,
the heart is screams in pain,
missing, missing, missing,
it beats like drops of rain.

SAIL OFF IRISH ROVER

Its tough to build an Irish band
in a fuckin' foreign land,
them bastards here will never feel
the beat of Paddy's heart.

Bashin' head against the wall,
stuck in the bloody place of dole,
and the poor dog that drowned on board
had more Irish luck than me.

Whats the fuckin' playin' thing,
when theres no soul of those within',
tis' the soul they never had
and thats what takes the Irish band.

How to sail this fuckin' sea,
when theres no crew to sail with me,
its darkest night and theres no light,
oh Lord, upon this ship.

Sail off Irish Rover,
from this stormy sea of life,
let St. Patrick's faith light my path
and spirits of Shane ahead.

Sail off Irish Rover,
from this stormy sea of life,
let St. Patrick's faith light my path
and spirits of Shane ahead.

BACK IN DREAMS

Another bloody day it is,
to be awake I'm not much pleased,
theres nothing here awaiting me,
just another day of misery.

Put the blanket on my head,
and dream again of dear old land,
my Irish girl is there for me,
its nice again I'm glad to see.

Fuckin' evils in world of realms,
purest feelings in the land of dreams,
where scumbags Serbs can't hurt me no,
my heart and soul they're free to go.

Back in dreams its good to be,
forget the place of misery,
back in dreams its good to be,
forget the place of misery.

Back in dreams its good to be,
forget the place of misery,
back in dreams its good to be,
forget the place of misery.

IRISH HIGH KING SHANE

Another pointless day,
again in the land of hells,
so I sit in my crappy room,
listen what Shaneo says.

Those tunes they bloody rule,
and Shaneo sings like king,
purest Paddy rock 'n' roll,
that some will never feel.

The love, the pain, the fight,
the fuckin' truths of life,
it only can the Irish King,
such purest lines to write.

Glory to the greatest Paddy,
thats the spirit that we need,
give us more of Irish wisdom,
you're the Highest Irish King.

Glory to the greatest Paddy,
thats the spirit that we need,
give us more of Irish wisdom,
you're the Highest Irish King.

PADDY'S FUEL

Drinking days, they're starting now,
Beer Fest coming to this town,
fear you boozers, now retreat,
Paddy's coming booze to meet.

Locals hate the Paddy's way,
far from them I hope to stay,
tossers, posers, fuckin' bunch,
none is worth of Paddy's punch.

Tremble ground, f yez all,
beer is cheap in the land of dole,
and cans of gold they sooth the pain,
give me more, again, again.

Tremble ground, f yez all,
beer is cheap in the land of dole,
cans of gold they sooth the pain,
pour you bastard, again, again.

IRISH CANNONS ROARING

The hell of night it was,
we set the place on fire,
the band was playing Irish tunes,
burning with desire.

The punks, the drunks, the junks,
all gathered for the feast,
never seen a band like us,
a fuckin' Irish beast.

We drank some tons of booze,
we smoked some hundreds fags,
you bastards stay off our gigs,
you'll end up in the bags.

The band is kicking arse,
and the Irish spirits flowing,
up there in the air,
you can hear the cannons roaring.

The band is kicking arse,
and the Irish spirits flowing,
up there in the air,
you can hear the cannons roaring.

Irish cannons roaring
Irish cannons roaring
Irish cannons roaring

MEDUSA FORA

The fuckin' world by now should now,
its here that purest spirits flow,
where all us Irish bastards go,
we, we, we are at Medusa Fora.

Come to see the greatest place,
join the threads, the booze, the mess,
share your wisdom with the best,
Pogues, Pogues, Pogues are at Medusa Fora.

Thousands sailing with the tunes,
for every fan theres bunch of rooms,
this bar can handle all us looms,
hurray, hurray, hurray for Medusa Fora.

And when I fall from grace with God,
then damn, I've been a nasty sod,
sure one thing I have in mind,
God, God, God must love Medusa Fora.

And when I fall from grace with God,
then damn, I've been a nasty sod,
sure one thing I have in mind,
God, God, God must love Medusa Fora.

PLASTIC PADDY LADY

There is one baby,
and she's an Irish lady,
of the County Hell she's star.

With a rockin' nickname,
they call her Plastic Paddy,
she's the one that sent me smile.

Playin', lovin', kissin',
oh thats the girl I'm missing,
though I never seen her live.

Plastic Paddy, maybe she's my baby,
Plastic Paddy tell me now.

Plastic Paddy, maybe she's my lady,
Plastic Paddy tell me now.

Plastic Paddy, Plastic Paddy,
Plastic Paddy tell me now.

POG MO THOIN, BITCH

Oh Lord, I'm coming home,
raining bunch of tears,
one Irish looking girl,
she broke my heart with spears.

And where it all began,
in this stinkin' stupid town,
to that Beer Fest I went
to drink and laugh around.

Who would of fuckin' guess,
I'd meet a girl like that,
she reminded me of Ireland
with that Irish smile and hair.

I gave her all me love,
believed she loved me too,
but the bitch just played tricks on me,
and made me look like fool.

Pog Mo Thoin you bitch,
Irish love is once for all,
I'll keep myself from devils,
who want to steal my soul.

And if you meet a girl,
and think she's Irish too,
maybe thats the devil,
playin' tricks with you.

Pog Mo Thoin you bitch,
Irish love is once for all,
I'll keep myself from devils,
who want to steal my soul.

SOME OF THE COVERING SONGS I'M PERFORMING:

More Pricks Than Kicks

By Shane MacGowan , The Crock of Gold, 27th October 1997

If you were around
we could go on the town
Instead of just goinmg
on the booze
If you'd stay in my life
We'd kick up the high life
Country Irish like we used to do

And we'd
drink
and we'd
dance
and we'd
dance
and we'd
drink
and we'd
drink
and we'd
dance
and we'd
dance
and we'd
drink

So at my command
you will take my hand
And we'll dance
the final dance

But it's more pricks
than kicks
That's what it is
I'm a scumbag,
a lout, thats the way
things are

If you name me a street
Then I'll name you a bar
And I'll walk right through Hell
just to buy you a jar

The Irish Rover

Traditional

On the fourth of July 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 oh, how the wild winds drove her.
She'd got several blasts, she'd twenty-seven masts
And we called her the Irish Rover.

We had one million bales of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of stones
We had three million sides of old blind horses hides,
We had four million barrels of bones.
We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs,
Seven million barrels of porter.
We had eight million bails of old nanny goats' tails,
In the hold of the Irish Rover.

There was awl Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute
When the ladies lined up for his set
He was tootin' with skill for each sparkling quadrille
Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet
With his sparse witty talk he was cock of the walk
As he rolled the dames under and over
They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance
And he sailed in the Irish Rover

There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee,
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Jimmy McGurk who was scarred stiff of work
And a man from Westmeath called Malone
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracey from Dover
And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And the ship lost it's way in a fog.
And that whale of the crew was reduced down to two,
Just meself and the captain's old dog.
Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord what a shock
The bulkhead was turned right over
Turned nine times around, and the poor dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover

Back In The County Hell

By Shane MacGowan, The Crock of Gold, 27th October 1997

Well oh well I'm back in the County Hell
I just flew in and my arms they feel like hell
I'm so glad to be back in the County Hell
I missed the smack, I missed the crack,
I missed the killings too
I missed the London Irish girls
but especially missed you
The USA never fails to make me blue

Put me in charge I'd execute the Artistic Queers
And all the fuckin' bastards that drink trendy Irish beers
My death squads would be kids from flats
All high from sniffing glue
I'd use them to kill rich Brits
and the journalistic whores

The park bench Aristocrats
are drinking in the park
And the junkies are still sneaking
in for fix up after dark
And Jock laid out on his park bench
like it was his home settee
Singin' like a fallen angel Me and Bobby McGee

When I've done my patriotic chore
And burnt London to the ground
I'll go back home to Nenagh
and get pissed every night in town
Like the ol' folks say,
you can't keep a good man down

And the park bench Aristocrats
still drinking in the park
The junkies are still sneaking in
for fix up after dark
Jock's still layed out on his park bench
like it was his own settee
Singing like a fallen angel
Me and Bobby McGee

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose
Nothin ain't worth nothin if ain't free
Feelin good was easy Lord when Bobby sang the blues
Feelin good was good enough for me
Good enough for me and Bobby McGee

Donegal Express

By Shane MacGowan (1994), The Snake (original release), 17th October 1994

Who dares to speak of Donegal
You get kicks in the bars and kicks in the balls
The harp that played in Tara's halls
Is burning on the dump
Virginia is a gin town
Belturbot is a sin town
And all the boys from Skintown
Are in England on the lump
Got pissed in Letterkenny
With darlin' sportin' Jenny
Spent me very last penny
And we made it in the press
The husband caught me in the bed
Tried to shoot me in the head
Had to swim the stream to get
The Donegal Express

Kahaya! You fuck!
Come Hell of high water
I might have fucked your Missus
But I never fucked your daughter
Fol-diddle-dee-ahhh
Fol-diddle-dee-ahhh
Fol-diddle-dee-ahhh
Fol-diddle-dee-ahhh

As sure as I'm Father Emmett
I've a King Dong down me Semmett
As any girl will tell you
From Cavan down to Clare
Back in sweet Virginia
In the toilet with Lavinia
I nearly fucked her brains out
And tore her party dress
A shit, a shave, a shower
And half a pint of powers
Then off again to get on board
The Donegal Express

Kahaya! You fuck!
Come Hell of high water
I might have fucked your Missus
But I never fucked your daughter
Fol-diddle-dee-ahhh
Fol-diddle-dee-ahhh
Fol-diddle-dee-ahhh
Fol-diddle-dee-ahhh

Rock ‘N' Roll Paddy

By Shane MacGowan, The Crock of Gold, 27th October 1997

I'm the lowest of the low
I'm the sickest of the sick
They let me out the funny farm
Just to put me in the nick
Then they let me outta the hole
Just to crush me on the dole
I'm the lowest of the low
A rockin boppin lunatic

Whack for me daddy
I'm a rock'n'roll paddy
Whack for me daddy
I'm a rock'n'roll queen
Whack for me daddy
I'm a rock'n'roll paddy
Stick another record
in the record machine

Here's to Geno, here's to Eddie
Here's to sad songs Big O sings
Here's a letter from Elvis Presley
Big Tom is still the King

I will stalk them in the back seats
I will stalk them in the bars
Rape their women and scare their children
Burn them in their brand new cars

Streams of Whiskey

By Shane MacGowan (1984), The Pogues ,Red Roses For Me
October 1984

Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with Behan
I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
When questioned on his views
On the crux of life's philosophies
He had but these few clear and simple words to say

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I have cursed, bled and sworn
Jumped bail and landed up in jail
Life has often tried to stretch me
But the rope always was slack
And now that I've a pile
I'll go down to the Chelsea
I'll walk in on my feet
But I'll leave there on my back

Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
There's nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
I'll go into a bar and drink
Fifteen pints of beer

Paddy Rolling Stone

By Shane MacGowan (1996), The Crock of Gold, 27th October 1997

It was on the 23rd of June
As I lay blasted in my room
A small bird sang on an ivy branch
And the song they sang was the "Jug of Punch"

Tu-ra-lu-ra-lie, tu-ra-lu-ra-lay,
Tu-ra-lu-ra-lie, tu-ra-lu-ra-lay,
A small bird sang on an ivy branch
And the song they sang was the "Jug of Punch"

I don't need my junkie friends
All knockin' on my door
I just wanna do an old time waltz
With a buxom Irish whore

Call me Paddy Rolling Stone
I've a jug full of Mountain Dew
Just call me Paddy Rolling Stone
When I'm howling at the ceilidh moon

I'll be drinking whiskey in a ditch
With Scruffy, and Brick and Noel
Now I've gone and lost my gear
And I'm looking for my hole

We are Tex's riders
And we come from Nenagh town
One of these nights, durin' one of those fights
Gonna burn the whole place down

Call me Paddy Rolling Stone
I've a jug full of Mountain Dew
Just call me Paddy Rolling Stone
When I'm howling at the ceilidh moon

When I die don't bother me
Just dig me a six foot hole
With a candle at my head and feet
And a jar of alcohol

Just call me Paddy Rolling Stone
I've a jug full of Mountain Dew
Just call me Paddy Rolling Stone
When I'm howling at the ceilidh moon

Call me Paddy Rolling Stone
I've a jug full of Mountain Dew
Just call me Paddy Rolling Stone
When I'm howling at the ceilidh moon

Come To The Bower

Trad. Arr./Shane MacGowan, The Crock of Gold, 27th October 1997

Will you come to the Bower
Over the free boundless ocean
Where the stupendous waves
roll in thundering motion
Where mermaids are seen
And the fierce tempest gather
To love Erin the green
The dear land of our fathers
Will you come, will you, will you,
will you come to the Bower

Will you come to the land
of O'Neill and O'Donnell
Lord Lucan of old
and immortal O'Connell
Where Brian chased the Danes
and St. Patrick the vermin
And whose valleys remain still
most beautiful and charming
Will you come, will you, will you,
will you come to the Bower

You can see Dublin City
and the fine groves of Blarney
The Bann, The Boyne,
The Liffey and the lakes of Lillarney
You can ride on the tide
over the broad majestic Shannon
You can sail round Lough Neagh
and see storied Dungannon
Will you come, will you,
will you come to the Bower?

Will you come and awake
our dear land from ist's slumber
And her fetters we we'll break links
that long are encumbered
And the air will resound
with Hosannas to greet you
On the shores will be found
gallant Irishmen to meet you
Will you come, will you, will you,
will you come to the bower

Dirty Old Town

By Ewan McColl, The Pogues , Rum, Sodomy And The Lash, 1985

I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
Kissed a girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Clouds a drifting across the moon
Cats a prowling on their beat
Spring's a girl in the street at night
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Heard a siren from the docks
Saw a train set the night on fire
Smelled the spring on the smoky wind
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I'm going to make me a good sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fire
Will chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
Kissed a girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Mother Mo Chroí

By Shane MacGowan, The Crock of Gold, 27th October 1997

It was 1962 and I was
two years out of school
When I got on board a boat
That was bound for Liverpool
The day we sailed away
I remember it so well
Took a look at the North Wall
And bid a fond farewell

It's a hard thing to leave the land
of your childhood
Touched by the rivers
And kissed by the sea
The places you played
with your childhood companions
To leave dear old Ireland and
Mother Mo Chroí

Though I am going far away
And I may never return here
There is one thing
that I'll keep within me
Deep in my heart a furious devotion
The love of old Ireland and Mother Mo Chroi

On the top of the Pentonville Road
I saw the sun setting
The town laid out before me
Looked beautiful to me
Away from all the sighing
The suffering and the dying
I dreamed of the future
The young and the free

But the years they go by quickly
Now I know I can't remain here
Where each day brings me closer
To that final misery
My kids will never scrape shit round here
And I won't die crying in a pint of beer
I'm going back to Ireland and Mother Mo Chroí

Céilídh Cowboy

By Shane MacGowan, The Crock of Gold, 27th October 1997

I am a céilídh cowboy
I'm a stranger in this town
You should hear your women
squeal with joy
When I get their knickers down
I'll dance them and romance them
Til they're nearly out of breath
Then when I taken them out for air
I'll fuck them half to death

Been sitting on a fridge
close to the edge
Running out of coke
and dying for a poke
Don't lock up your wives
and daughters
Don't lock up your cats and dogs
I came down here
with my feet all bare
And I sleep in a hollow log

Yippee I oh
Yippee I ay
Yodle odle ee
Yodle odle ay
Yodle odle odle ay

My name is Father Emmett
I've been banished from my home
Cos all the women loved me
and I always had the bone
I could play the concertina, guitar, bouzouki and cittern
When I dance the Siege of Ennis
The floor beneath me starts to burn

For a jar or two just get me through
I'll do a turn for you ...
and absolve you too

I'll take care of your missus
All night long the whole night through
While you jump on that young one
over there
That's making eyes at you

Lonesome Highway

By Shane MacGowan (1997), The Crock of Gold, 27th October 1997

As I wondered down the long lonesome highway
I meet other people on the way
The broken hearted lovers who've been left along the by-way
Living by night and hiding from the day
The people I meet as I go on my way
They all have a story to tell
How they once had a lover who left them on the by-way
To wonder this lonely hell

And if you know, don't let me go
And if you know, don't let me go
And if you know, don't let me go
I love you so
I love you so

So as I carry on down the long lonesome highway
I meet other people on the way
More broken hearted lovers who've been left along the by-way
Living by night and hiding from the day

And if you know, don't let me go
And if you know, don't let me go
And if you know, don't let me go
Cause I love you so
I love you so

I love you so....

If I Should Fall From Grace With God

By Shane MacGowan (1987) , The Pogues: If I Should Fall From Grace With God, January 1988

If I should fall from grace with god
Where no doctor can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath the sod
But the angels won't receive me

Let me go boys
Let me go boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

This land was always ours
Was the proud land of our fathers
It belongs to us and them
Not to any of the others

Let them go boys
Let them go boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

Bury me at sea
Where no murdered ghost can haunt me
If I rock upon the waves
No corpse can lie upon me

It's coming up three boys
Keeps coming up three boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

If I should fall from grace with god
Where no doctor can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath the sod
And still the angels won't receive me

Let me go boys
Let me go boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry