Let grasses grow and the waters flow,
In a free and easy way
But give me enough of the rare ould stuff,
Thatґs made near Talgrey Bay
Ye peelers all from Donegal, Sligo and Leitrim, too
Oh, weґll give the slip and weґll take a sip,
Of the rare old Mountain Dew
Thereґs 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
Thereґs poitin, boys, close by
For it fills the air with odor rare,
And betwixt both me and you
When home you roll, you can drink a bowl,
Or a bucket of the Mountain Dew
Now learned men who used the pen,
Who wrote the praises high
Of the rare poitin from Ireland green,
Distilled from wheat and rye
Away with yer pills, itґll cure all ills,
Be ye Pagan, Christian, Jew
So take off your coat and free your throat,