The Boys at Bruichladdich

(to the tune of Boozin' - bloody well boozin')

Who are the boys with the over-sized grins
The boys at Bruichladdich
Who brought confidence back to the Rinns
The boys at Bruichladdich
They've mastered the art of distilling with style
By not hesitating to go one more mile
And they make the best whisky from Carrick to Kyle
The boys at Bruichladdich

Bruichladdich simply the best
Bruichladdich impressed all the rest
We're blest in the west so let us ingest
A dram of Bruichladdich

Who should we ask to brew Islay beer
The boys at Bruichladdich
Who should we contract to build the next pier
The boys at Bruichladdich
When other distilleries run out of oil
In sheer desperation who will they call
For emergency rations of "uisquebaugh baul"
The boys at Bruichladdich

Bruichladdich simply the best
Bruichladdich impressed all the rest
We're blest in the west so let us ingest
A dram of Bruichladdich

They might only fill 80 barrels a day
The boys at Bruichladdich
But who are the scourge of the SWA
The boys at Bruichladdich
The big boys say they are everyone's friends
But they make up the rules for their own evil ends
But who knows the difference between malts and blends
The boys at Bruichladdich

Bruichladdich simply the best
Bruichladdich impressed all the rest
We're blest in the west so let us ingest
A dram of Bruichladdich

Who is it keeps all the lads on the rails
The girls at Bruichladdich
And sometimes they knock the wind right oot their sails
The girls at Bruichladdich
There's Lynn and there's Lorna and Ella as well
But they're no the worst - for I have heard tell
That Barbara and Chrissie and Mary give hell
Tae the boys at Bruichladdich

Bruichladdich simply the best
Bruichladdich impressed all the rest
We're blest in the west so let us ingest
A dram of Bruichladdich

Ode to Peat

Wee rough and crumbly, fibrous cake o' peat
I love your perfumed smoke, I love your heat.
In summer time we cut you from the bog
In winter time we burn you like a log.
Your heady haze adorns each village street;
All island people love the reek o' peat.
And what would all the whisky makers do
If they couldn't pinch a bit of smoke from you?
Without a tiny thread or wisp of smoke
All whisky drinkers cough and retch and choke
For real men need the rasping edgy stuff
And Islay women like a bit of rough!
A smoky flavoured dram cannot be beat
So here's to you - you handsome slab o' peat!