Let the grasses grow 
and the waters flow in a free and easy way
But give me enough of the rare old stuff 
that's made near Galway [bad word] gangers all from Donegal,
Sligo and Leitrim too
Oh, we'll give 'em a slip 
and we'll take a sip of the rare old mountain dew

thiddle i ay di diddle dum thiddle i ay di diddle dum
thiddle i ay di diddle [bad word] a dum dey
thiddle i ay di diddle dum thiddle i ay di diddle dum
thiddle i ay di diddle [bad word] a dum dey

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 poitín, boys, close by
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

thiddle i ay di diddle dum thiddle i ay di diddle dum
thiddle i ay di diddle [bad word] a dum dey
thiddle i ay di diddle dum thiddle i ay di diddle dum
thiddle i ay di diddle [bad word] a dum dey

Now learned men as use the pen, 
have writ the praises high
Of the sweet poitín 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

thiddle i ay di diddle dum thiddle i ay di diddle dum
thiddle i ay di diddle [bad word] a dum dey
thiddle i ay di diddle dum thiddle i ay di diddle dum
thiddle i ay di diddle [bad word] a dum dey