Gro-owth pressed—I’m a grape-treat blender;
my blending technique’s extra swell.
So sweet, the must; indiscreet, my lust—
my nose is in throes at the smell.

O-oak cask—I’m a grape-treat blender;
I’m mixing by swirling some Rhônes.
I tannin-tame so well, I’ve gained fame;
I deftly tend rebellious clones.

They peel off the skins, and yeast starts to seethe.
When dealing with Zins, I give each time to breathe.

Yes, I’m a grape-squeeze blender;
I quaff what I have swirled around.
I’m not hasty—the results: tasty!
I’m winning in each medal round;
on my work, no judge ever frowned.

They peel off the skins, and yeast starts to seethe.
When the zone I’m in, great vintage I bequeath.

Yes, I’m a grapes-squeezed blender;
I quaff what I have swirled around
That fine ’03, it was fined by me…
from grapes grown in gravelly ground,
in terroir I don’t need to drown.

Drink some down!