Cruiscin Lan



Let the farmer praise his grounds
Let the huntsmen praise his hounds,
And the shepard his dewey scented lawn.
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



CHORUS:
Gra-ma-chree ma-cruiscin, slainte geal mavoorneen,
Gram-machree ma cruiscin, lan, lan, lan,
Oh! gra-ma-chree ma cruiscin lan.



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


*CHORUS*


And when grim Death appears, in a few but happy years,
He'll say "O won't you come along with me...",
I'll say, "Begone, you knave! 
For King Bacchus gave me leave
To take another cruiscin lan, lan, lan
To take another cruiscin lan.


*CHORUS*


The fill your glasses high, lets not part with lips a dry,
That the lark now proclaims it is the dawn.
And since we can't remain,
May we shortly meet again
To fill another cruiscin lan, lan, lan
To fill another cruiscin lan.


*CHORUS*