Gather up the pots and the old tin can
The corn, the mash, the barley and the bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney
Oh the excise men are on their way
Theyґre hunting all around for the mountain tay
Oh they wonґt go away for the devil of a day
In the hills of Connemara
Oh hereґs a bottle for Uncle Tom
And hereґs a gallon for Father John
To help the poor old man along
Through the hills of Connemara
Well, stand your ground for itґs too late
The excise men are at the gate
Oh, glory be to Jesus, theyґre drinking it straight
In the hills of Connemara