| lyric | Let grasses grow and waters flow, In a free and easy way.
But give me enough of the rare old stuff. That’s made near Galway Bay.
The gaugers all from Donegal, from Slgo and Leitrim too,
Oh, we’ll give them the slip and we’ll take a sip of the real old Mountain Dew.
Chorus:
Hi the dithery al teh dal,
dal the dalthe dithery al,
al the dal dal ditheryasl dee
Hi the dithery al the dal,
dal the dal the dithery al,
dal the dal dal dithery al the doe
At the foot of the hill there’s a neat little still
Where the smoke curls up to the sky;
By a whiff of the smell you can plainly tell
That there’s poitin, boys, close by.
CHORUS
For it fills the air with a perfume rare,
And betwixt both me and you,
As home we roll, we can drink a bowl,
Or a bucketful of mountain dew.
CHORUS
Now learned men who use the pen,
Have wrote the praises high
Of the sweet poitin from Ireland green
Distilled from wheat and rye.
CHORUS
Away with pills, it will cure all ills,
Of the Pagan, Christian or Jew;
So take off your coat and grease your throat
With the real old mountain dew.
CHORUS |