The Rare Old Mountain Dew

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 Come gougers 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.

There's a neat little still at the foot of the hill Where the smoke curls up to the sky By a whiff of the smell you can plainly tell That there's poitín boys close by. 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.

Now learned men as use the pen Have writ' the praises high Of the sweet poitín from Ireland green That's made from wheat and rye Away with your pills, it'll cure all ills Be ye pagan, Christian, or Jew So take off your coat and grease your throat With a bucket of the mountain dew.