Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
The mash and 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, they're on their way
Searching for the mountain tay
In the Hills of Connemara.
Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
The mash and the corn, the barley and the bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney.
The mountain breezes as they blow
Echo down to plains below
The big tall men are on the go
In the Hills of Connemara.
Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
The mash and the corn, the barley and the bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney.
Swing to the left now swing to the right—
The excise men, they can dance all night
Drinking up the tay till the broad daylight
In the Hills of Connemara.
Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
The mash and 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 big Nick Klein
A bottle for the poor old Father Stein
To keep him off that altar wine
In the Hills of Connemara.
Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
The mash and 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, they're at the gate
Glory be to Paddy for they're drinking it straight
In the Hills of Connemara! Gather up your pots and your old tin cans
The mash and the corn, the barley and the bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney.