Musica do dia

PREAB SAN OL
(Trust in Drink)

Why spend your leisure, bereft of pleasure, amassing treasure, why scrap and save
Why look so canny at every penny, you'll take no money within the grave
Landlords and gentry with all their plenty, must still go empty where ere they're found
So to my thinking, we best be drinkin', our glasses clinkin' another round


Is iomaí slí sin a bhíos ag daoineag
cruinniú píosaí is ag déanamh stóir,
is a laghad a smaoiníos ar ghiorra an tsaoil seo
go mbeidh siad sínte faoi leac go fóill.
Más tiarna tíre, diúc nó rí thú,
ní rachaidh pingin leat is tú ag dul faoin bhfód.
Mar sin is dá bhrí sin níl beart níos críonnaná
bheith go síorraí ag cur preab son ól.

King Solomon's glory so famed in story, was far outshone by the lilies guise
But hard winds harden, both field and garden, pleadin for pardon the lily dies
Life's but a bauble of toil and trouble, the feathered arrow once shot ne'er found
So lads and lasses, because life passes, come fill your glasses another round

The huckster greedy, he blinds the needy with cries unheeded shouts money down
His special vices, his fancy prices for a florin value, he'll charge a crown
With hump for trammel the Scriptures camel missed the needle's eye and so came to ground
Why pine for riches, when still you've stitches to hold your britches up another round

When life you're tasting and money wasting and worry hastens to bid you care
What makes you easy, lazy and crazy, the world hazy beyond compare
There's them that's with us, sour, religious, who quite prodigious would bid us hold
Count every penny, do not spend any, by dry and canny and mind your gold


An long thar sáile níl cuan nó cearda
nach gcaithfeadh cairde ar fud an domhain mhóir
ó ríocht na Spáinne agus suas Gibraltar
Agus ins an áit a mbíonn an Grand Senor.
Le gach lasta ag líonadh málaí
ní choinneodh an bás uaidh uair nó dhó.
Mar sin, a chairde, níl beart níos fearr dúinn
ná bheith mar táimid ag cur preab san ól.


When sorrow binds you and salt tears blind you, hard drink will mind you and ease
your grief
Gay dissipation is the making, get down to taking some wet relief
There's many head men and quite well fed men and quite well dead men in six by fur
And before this Chorus is halfway o'er us, under the clover there's plenty more


Trad Irlandesa