Oh, let the 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 [bad word] gougers all from Donegal
Sligo and Leitrim too
And we'll give them the slip and we'll take a sip
Of the real ould mountain dew
 [bad word] 
Skiddery idle diddle dum
Skiddery idle diddle dum
Skiddery idle diddle dum dum day
Skiddery idle diddle dum
Skiddery idle diddle dum
Skiddery idle dum a diddle dum day

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
For it fills the air with a perfume rare
And betwixt both me and you
As home we roll, we'll drink a bowl
Or a bucketful of mountain dew
 [bad word] 
There's learned men that use the pen
Have written yer praises high
Of the sweet poitin from Ireland green
Distilled from wheat and rye
Go away with yer pills, it'll cure all ills
Of the Pagan, Christian or Jew
So take off your coat and grease your throat
With a bucketful of Mountain Dew
 [bad word] 
Let the 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 [bad word] gaugers all from Donegal
Sligo and Leitrim too
And we'll give them the slip and we'll take a sip
Of the real ould Mountain Dew
 [bad word]