Let the grasses grow
And the waters flow in a free and easy way
But give me enough of the rare old stuff
That's made near galway bay
Come gangers all from donegal
Sligo and leitrim too
Oh we'll give em a slip
And we'll take a sip of the rare old mountain dew
Hi di-diddly-idle-um, diddly-doodle-idle-um, diddly-doo-ri-diddlum-deh
Hi di-diddly-idle-um, diddly-doodle-idle-um, diddly-doo-ri-diddlum-deh
At the foot of the hill there's a neat little still
Where the smoke curls up to the sky
By the smoke and the smell you can plainly tell
That there's poitin brewing nearby
For it fills the air with an aura rare
And betwixt both me and you
As home you troll, you can take a bowl
Or a bucket of the mountain dew
Hi di-diddly-idle-um, diddly-doodle-idle-um, diddly-doo-ri-diddlum-deh
Hi di-diddly-idle-um, diddly-doodle-idle-um, diddly-doo-ri-diddlum-deh
On the banks of the roses me love and I sat down
And I took out me fiddle for to play me love a tune
And in the middle of the tune-o she sighed and she said
Oro johnny, lovely johnny don't ya leave me
When I was a young man I heard me father say
That he'd rather see me dead and buried in the clay
Sooner than be married to any runaway
By the lovely sweet banks of the roses
On the banks of the roses me love and I sat down
And I took out me fiddle for to play me love a tune
And in the middle of the tune-o she sighed and she said
Oro johnny, lovely johnny don't ya leave me
As down the glen came mcalpines men
With their shovels slung behind them
Twas in the pub they drank the sub
And up in the spike you'll find them
They sweated blood and they washed down mud
With pints and quarts of beer
And now we're on the road again
With mcalpines fusiliers
I stripped to the skin with darky flynn
Way down upon the isle of grain
With the horseface toole then I knew the rule
No money if you stop for rain
Mcalpines god was a well filled hod
Your shoulders cut to bits and seared
And woe to he who to looks for tea
With mcalpines fusiliers
Gather up the pots and the old tin cans
The mash the corn the barley and the bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising barney
Keep your eyes well peeled today
The excise men are on their way
Searching for the mountain tay
In the hills of connemara
Gather up the pots and the old tin cans
The mash the corn the barley and the bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising barney
A gallon for the butcher and a quart for john
And a bottle for old father tom
Just to help the poor old dear along
In the hills of connemara
Gather up the pots and the old tin cans
The mash the corn the barley and the bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising barney
Stand your ground, for it's too late
The excise men are at the gate
Glory be to paddy but they're drinking it straight
In the hills of connemara
Gather up the pots and the old tin cans
The mash the corn the barley and the bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising barney