Let grasses grow and waters flow in a free and easy way, But give me enough of the fine old stuff that's made near Galway Bay, And policemen all from Donegal,Sligo and Leitrim too, Oh, we'll give them the slip and we'll take a sip Of the rare old Mountain Dew
Chorus:
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 brewin’ nearby. For it fills the air with an odour rare, And betwixt both me and you, When home you stroll, you can take a bowl, Or a bucket of the Mountain Dew
Chorus
No learned men who use the pen, Have wrote your praises high Of the sweet poitin from Ireland green, Distilled from wheat and rye. So throw away your pills, it'll cure all ills, Be you Pagan, Christian or Jew, So take off your coat and grease your throat With the rare old Mountain Dew.