Текст песни
The publican says, "Raise yer gless!
For the man that built the barrels
That held the drink that kept this hoose
Through thirty years o' quarrels.
His staves were true, his hoops were ticht —
Hoi! — and nae a dram was spilt!"
Here's a dram for the cooper's haunds,
Here's a dram for the cooper's craft,
Here's tae fifty years o' timber
And the gid years fore and aft!
Hoi!
The fiddler says, "I'll tell ye true —
He tuned my strings when I was wee,
He'd hum the notes and tap the wood
Till every stave sang back tae me.
His ear was braw, his haund was sure —
He made a music naebody could hear."
Here's a dram for the cooper's haunds,
Here's a dram for the cooper's craft,
Here's tae fifty years o' timber
And the gid years fore and aft!
Hoi!
The postman says, "Dinnae get me started!
He nailed my satchel tae the fence,
He filled my boots wi' oaken shavings,
And charged me tuppence for the 'repairs.'
But when my roof came doon in winter —
Hoi! — he built it back wi'oot a word."
Here's a dram for the cooper's haunds,
Here's a dram for the cooper's craft,
Here's tae fifty years o' timber
And the gid years fore and aft!
Hoi!
The cooper stands. He hauds his gless.
He says, "I'm no a man for speeches.
The wood was gid. The work was lang.
But every barrel held a promise —
That something braw would fill it yet."
He drinks. He sits. He says nae mair.
Here's a dram for the cooper's haunds,
Here's a dram for the cooper's craft,
Here's tae fifty years o' timber
And the gid years fore and aft.
