Let the farmer praise his grounds,
Let the huntsman praise his hounds,
Let the shepherd praise his
Oh, but I'm more wise than they,
Spend each happy night and day
With me darlin' little Krushkin lawn,
Me darlin' little Krushkin lawn.
O grá ma crí ma crúschín,
Grá ma crí ma crúschín, lán, lán, lán,
O grá ma crí ma crúschín, lán.
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 Krushkin,
Oh, my darlin' little Krushkin, lan.
Oh, Grama Krima Krushkin,
Grama Krima Krushkin, lan, lan, lan,
Oh, Grama Krima Krushkin, lan.
And when Grim Death appears
in a few but happy years,
won't you come along with me?
I'll say begone, you knave,
for King Bacchus gave me lave,
To take another crushkin, lan, lan, lan,
To take another crushkin, lan.
Grama Crema Crushki, lan, lan, lan,
O Grama Crema Crushki, lan.
Then fill your glasses high,
let's not part with lips so dry,
And since we can't remain,
may we shortly meet again,
To fill another Krushkin lawn, lawn, lawn,
To fill another Krushkin lawn.
Gramercy McCruskey, laun, laun, laun,
Oh, Gramercy McCruskey, laun.
