The New Irish Rover

[benjenbav]

On twenty fourth of June, twenty-hundred, one six
We set sail for the fair Cobh of Cork
We were bound far away with a load of gold bricks
From the fine city hall of New York
In a very fine craft, with thrusters fore-and-aft
And oh, how the twin shafts drove her
She had twelve radar masts and withstood several blasts
And we called her the Irish Rover

There was a fine sense of glee
In the sky there were near perfect heavens
There was Jimmy T-B, who’s more Irish than me
And a man from Cee Aitch, name of Evans
There were the young brothers Barke
Who sold Noah his first Ark
And fighting our way out from Dover
With J F O’Malley, who could reef, steer and tally
The skipper of the Irish Rover

We had one million pix
Two million nix
And three million films-o from drones
We had four million jokes
Five million pokes
And six million lumens of undersea light
On the hull of the Irish Rover…

We had sailed sev’ral months when the brexit broke out
And the ship lost her way in a fog
…

Then the pound struck a rock
O Lord what a shock
And then it heeled right over
It turned nine times around
and the poor old pound was drowned…
But, to be sure. What’s the use?
Two, three, four

‘Tis not the end of the Irish Rover.

 

[benjenbav]

Working on the tune. This'll have to do pro-tem:



Usual apologies, of course.

 

[Bigplumbs]

Working on the tune. This'll have to do pro-tem:



Usual apologies, of course.

No need for any apologies for posting that work of art