Let grasses grow and waters flow
|
In a free and easy way,
|
But give me enough of the rare old stuff
|
That's made near Galway Bay,
|
Come gangers all from Donegal,
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Sligo and Leitrim too,
|
Oh, we'll give the slip and we'll take a sip
|
Of the rare old Mountain Dew
|
|
Hi the dithery al the dal, dal the dal the dithery al, al the dal, dal dithery al dee
|
Hi the dithery al the dal, dal the dal the dithery al, dal the dal, dal dithery al dee
|
|
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
|
That there's poitin, boys, close by.
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For it fills the air with a perfume rare,
|
And betwixt both me and you,
|
As home we roll, we can drink a bowl,
|
Or a bucketful of Mountain Dew
|
|
Now learned men as use the pen,
|
Have writ the praises high
|
Of the rare poitin from Ireland green,
|
Distilled from wheat and rye.
|
Away with yer pills, it'll cure all ills,
|
Be ye Pagan, Christian or Jew,
|
So take off your coat and grease your throat
|
With a bucketful of Mountain Dew.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Rare Ould Mountain Dew
|
| The Pogues |
