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Hi-the-diddley-I-dill-dum, diddley-doodle-I-dill-um, diddley- doo-ri-diddley-di-day
Hi-the-diddley-I-dill-um, diddley-doo-dill-I-dill-um, diddley- doo-ri-diddley-di-day
Let grasses grow and waters flow in a free and easy way
But give me enough of the fine ould stuff that's made near Galway Bay
And policemen all from Donegal, Sligo and Leitrim too
We'll give them the slip and we'll take a sip of the real old mountain dew
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 painly tell, that there's poteen brewing nearby
It fills the air with odour rare and betwixt both me and you
When home you stroll, you can take a bowl or a bucket of the mountain dew
Now learned men who use the pen, have wrote your praises high
That sweet poteen from Ireland green, distilled from wheat and rye
Throw away your pills, it will cure all ills of pagan, christian or jew
Take off you coat and grease your throat with the real old mountain dew