Cruiskeen Lawn
Let the farmer praise his grounds, let the hunter praise his hounds
And the shepherd his sweet scented lawn
But I, more blest than they, spend each happy night and day
With my charmin' little cruiskeen lawn, lawn, lawn
Oh, my charmin little cruiskeen lawn
CHO: Gra-ma-chree ma-cruiskeen, slainte geal mavoorneen
Gra-machree a cool-in bawn, bawn, bawn
Oh! gramachree a coolin bawn
Immortal and divine, great Bacchus, god of wine
Create me by adoption your son
In hopes that you'll comply, THat my gla** shall ne'er run dry
Nor my smilin' little etc
And when grim d**h appears, in a few but pleasant years
To tell me that my gla** has run
I'll say, "Begone, you knave! For great Bacchus gave me leave
To take another etc