Let grasses grow and waters flow
In a free and easy way
But give me enough of the fine old stuff
That's made near Galway Bay
Oh peelers all, from Donegal
Galway 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 plainly tell
That there's poitín brewin' nearby
For it fills the air with odor rare
And betwixt both me and you
When home you'll roll, you can take a bowl
Or a bucket of the mountain dew

Now learned men who use the pen
Have wrote your praises high
The sweet poitín from Ireland's green
Distilled from wheat and rye
Throw away your pills that'll cure all ills
Of pagan or Christian, Jew
Take off your coat and free your throat
With the real old mountain dew
Hi de-diddley-didle doodle-didle doodle-didle dum
Diddley-doo-di diddley-di-day
Ha-ra de-diddley-didle-dum diddley-doodle-didle-dum
Diddley-doo-di diddley-di-day

Ha de-diddley-didle doodle-didle doodle-didle dum
Diddley-dee-di diddley-di-day
Ha-ra de-diddley-didle-dum diddley-doodle-didle-dum
Diddley-doo-di diddley-di-day