In[C] Glenravel's Glen there[D] lives a man whom[C] some would call a[D] god
he could[C] cure your shakes with a[D] bottle of his stuff would[C] cost you thirty[G] bob
Come[D] winter, summer,[C] frost
all over, a[D] jiggin' Spring on the breeze
In the[G] dead of night a[C] man steps by, "McI[G]lhatton, if you[D] please"
McIl[G]hatton you blurt we[F] need you, cry a[C] million shaking[G] men
Where[G] are your sacks of[C]
barley, will your[G] likes be seen a[F]gain?
Heres a[G] jig to the man and a[C] reel to the drop and a [G]swing to the
girl he[C] loves
May your[G] fiddle play and[D] poitín cure your[C] company up a[D]bove
Theres a wisp of smoke to the south of the Glen and the poitín is on the air
The birds in the burrows and the rabbits
in the sky and there's drunkards everywhere
At Skerries Rock the fox is out and begod he's chasing the hounds
only thing in decent shape is buried beneath the ground
At McIlhatton's house the fairies are out and dancing on the hobs
The goat's collapsed and the dog has run away and
there's salmon down the bogs
He has a million gallons of wash and the peelers are on the Glen
But they'll never catch
that hackler cos he's not comin'