Yes the winds of my homeland are cold
And were so long 'fore I was born
But you'll find no warmth by the fire
But deep in a cup or a horn

Men may fight over plunder
Kings may squabble for land
But gold is just garbage and land is just dirt
Without a good ale in hand!

Hrumdidadala, hrumdidadala, hrumdidadala
Hrumdidadala, hrumdido, hey! hey! hey!

My son's first time in the shieldwall
Our numbers made hardly a fence
But a few drinks filled his legs up with iron
And he was laughing himself out of sense!

The lady, she asked me for flowers
Something to leave her feeling alright...
So I cracked open a jug of that juice of the Heather
And I was raising her spirits all night!

Drink and be merry my brothers!
Drink for the good and the bad!
And always remember, when death calls us home
There is still more drink to be had!