| lyric | Gather up thepots and the old tin can,
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 tall, tall men are on their way,
Searching for the mountain tay,
In the Hills of Connemara.
Swing to the left and swing to the right,
The excise men will dance all night,
Drinking up the tay till the broad daylight,
In the Hills of Connemara.
A gallon for the butcher, a quart for Tom,
A bottle for poor old Father Tom,
To help the poor old dear along,
In the Hills of Connemara.
Stand your ground, it is too late,
The excise men are at the gate,
Glory be to Paddy, but they’re drinking it nate,
In the Hills of Connemara |