The cormorant’s got a kink in his neck
Stands to dry his scythe’s keen edge
All of the CalMac ferries have left
Sailing out from Kennacraig
Out where the Islay spirits play
Past salt-worn crofts
And soft waves tossed
In a sheltered bay
We go where we want
Every sense run amok
In this ancient place
On our Hebridean holiday
The cormorant’s got a kink in his neck
Stands to dry his scythe’s keen edge
Out where the CalMac ferries go west
From the port of Kеnnecraig
Over pastoral roads that lead
Up gеntle hills
Past woolen mills
To distilleries
Where we all have a dram
In this windswept land
Of stone and peat
Far from our homes across the sea
Bunnahabhain, Caol Ila, Bruichladdich, Laphroaig
Ardbeg, Bowmore, Kilchoman, Lagavulin
The cormorant’s got a kink in his neck
Stands to dry his scythe’s keen edge
Watching the CalMac ferries go back
To the port of Kennacraig
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Timothy Monger Lyrics – The Hebridean Dram