Preab san Ól (traid.)

Is iomaí slí sin a bhíonn ag daoine
A' cruinniú píosaí 's a' déanamh stóir,
'S a laghad a smaoiníonn ar ghiorr' a' tsaoil seo,
Go mbeidh siad sínte faoi leac go fóill.
Más tiarna tíre, diúc nó rí thú,
Ní chuirfear pingin leat 's tú ' dul faoin bhfód,
Mar sin 's dá bhrí sin, níl beart níos críonna
Ná bheith go síoraí ' cur preab san ól.

Tá dream de dhaoine le ba's le caoirigh
Ag dul chun aonaigh 's fáil dochar mór.
Á gcur chun cíbe 's as sin chun mínligh,
Sin pointí críonna go bhfeictear dóibh.
Ach déantar fian'se ar an mí seo,
Go mbeidh a' caoineadh 's a' sileadh deor'
Mar sin 's dá bhrí sin, níl beart níos críonna
Ná bheith go síoraí ' cur preab san ól.

 

 

 

There are so many ways that people
Gather money and make a store
But if they'd think of how short this life is
And how they'll be stretched out inside a tomb
Landlords and gentry with all their plenty
Must still go empty where e'er they're bound
So to my thinking we'd best be drinking
Our glasses clinking and round and round

There's people out there with cows and sheep
Off to the fair and under strain.
Clearing sedge to produce pasture,
Such are the wise things for them to do.
But let me tell you, before this month's out,
That they'll be crying and shedding tears.
Therefore there's no way that would be wiser
Than forever enjoying a drop of drink.