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Lyrics
Let grasses grow and the waters flow,
in a free and easy way
But give me enough of the rare ould stuff,
that’s made near Galway Bay
Ye peelers 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
chorus: Skiddel ....
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
There’s poitin, boys nearby
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 bucketfull of Mountain Dew.
Now learned men who used the pen,
who wrote the praises high
Of the sweet poitin from Ireland green,
distilled from wheat and rye
Forget yer pills, it will cure all ills,
be ye Pagan, Christian, Jew
So take off your coat and wet your throat,
with the real ould Mountain Dew
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