Cruiscan Lan

Let the farmer praise his grounds, let the huntsman praise his hounds,
Let the shepherd praise his dewy scented lambs;
oh but I, more wise than they, spend each happy night and day
With my darlin’ little cruiscin lan, lan, lan
Oh, my darlin little cruiscin lan.

Gra-ma-chree ma-cruiscin, slainte geal mavoorneen
Gra-machree ma cruiscin lan lan lan,
Oh! gramachree ma cruiscan lan

Immortal and divine, great Bacchus, god of wine
Create me by adoption your own son.
In the hopes that you’ll comply, that my glass shall ne’er run dry
Nor my darlin’ little cruiscan lan lan lan
My darlin’ little cruiscan lan

Gra-ma-chree ma-cruiscin, slainte geal mavoorneen
Gra-machree ma cruiscin lan lan lan,
Oh! gramachree ma cruiscan lan

And when cruel Death appears, in a few but happy years,
And says “why don’t you come along with me”,
I’ll say, ‘Begone, you knave! For King Bacchus gave me leave
To fill another cruiscan lan lan lan
To take another cruiscan lan

Gra-ma-chree ma-cruiscin, slainte geal mavoorneen
Gra-machree ma cruiscin lan lan lan,
Oh! gramachree ma cruiscan lan

So fill our glasses high, let’s not part with lips so dry
although the lark proclaims it is the dawn
and since we can’t remain may we shortly meet again
To fill another cruiscan lan lan lan
to share another cruscan lan

Gra-ma-chree ma-cruiscin, slainte geal mavoorneen
Gra-machree ma cruiscin lan lan lan,
Oh! gramachree ma cruiscan lan