| 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 galgers all from Donegal
|
| Sligo and Leitrim too
|
| Oh, we’ll give the slip and we’ll take a sip
|
| Of the rare old Mountain Dew
|
| Hi the dithery al the dal, dal the dal the dithery al, al the dal,
|
| dal dithery al dee
|
| Hi the dithery al the dal, dal the dal the dithery al, dal the dal,
|
| dal dithery al dee
|
| 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 poitin, 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
|
| Hi the dithery al the dal, dal the dal the dithery al, al the dal,
|
| dal dithery al dee
|
| Hi the dithery al the dal, dal the dal the dithery al, dal the dal,
|
| dal dithery al dee
|
| Now learned men as use the pen
|
| Have writ the praises high
|
| Of the rare poitin from Ireland green
|
| Distilled from wheat and rye
|
| Away with yer pills, it’ll cure all ills
|
| Be ye Pagan, Christian or Jew
|
| So take off your coat and grease your throat
|
| With a bucketful of Mountain Dew |