Rare Old Mountain Dew

Let the grasses grow and the waters flow in a free and

easy way

Just give me enough of the fine old stuff that's brewed

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

rare old mountain dew

Skid-ree Idle-diddle dum skid-ree Idle-diddle dum

Skid-ree Idle-dum diddle dum day

Skid-ree Idle-diddle dum skid-ree Idle-diddle dum

Skid-ree Idle-dum diddle dum day

There's a neat little still at the foot of the hill,

and smoke twirls up to the sky

For the smoke and the smell, its plan to tell that

there's poteen brewing near by

It fills the air, with an odor rare, and betwixt both

me and you

When home you stroll, you can take a bowl, or a bucket

of the mountain dew

Skid-ree Idle-diddle dum skid-ree Idle-diddle dum

Skid-ree Idle-dum diddle dum day

Skid-ree Idle-diddle dum skid-ree Idle-diddle dum

Skid-ree Idle-dum diddle dum day

Now learned men who use the pen, have written their

praises high

That sweet poteen from Ireland green, distilled from

wheat and rye

Throw away your pills; it will cure all ills, of the

pagan, the Christian or Jew

Take off your coat and grease your throat, with the

real old mountain dew

Skid-ree Idle-diddle dum skid-ree Idle-diddle dum

Skid-ree Idle-dum diddle dum day

Skid-ree Idle-diddle dum skid-ree Idle-diddle dum

Skid-ree Idle-dum diddle dum day