Lyrics:

From the Ladder Hills to Drumin
Down by Tamnavoulin
The Livet tumbles on towards the Spey
But the river owes its glory
And its place in many story
To the man who lies beside it at Tombae

Old Minmore, Old Minmore
Though few would believe it
He could dream and achieve it
Smith o' Glenlivet, Old Minmore

In these quiet untamed hills
There were once a hundred stills
Hidden from the gaugers' prying eyes
The peasants and the squires
Saw the smoke from whisky fires
Rise up unmolested to the skies

But the times were changing fast
And the old ways couldn't last
Though few could see the way that things would fall
But one man seemed to know
The way the world would go
Smith could read the writing on the wall

Old Minmore, Old Minmore...

But he found it much more risky
To make his legal whisky
For the smugglers in the Glen were mad as hell
And they said he was a traitor
To creators o' the cratur
And they'd burn his place with him inside as well

But Smith was not the kind
To be forced to change his mind
And he always played the hand that he was dealt
So to keep his dream alive
Or simply to survive
He wore a pair of pistols in his belt

Old Minmore, Old Minmore...

Between the Livet and the Avon
The eagle and the raven
Are the only ones who see what deeds are done
They say courage never fails
And dead men tell no tales
Smith carried on with what he had begun

Old Minmore, Old Minmore...