THE MOUNTAIN DEW.
As sung by Edward Harrigan in "The Blackbird."
Let grasses grow and water flow in a free and easy way.
Give me enough of the prime old stuff thats made in Granua;
Ye gaugers all from Donegal, Galway and Leitrim. too,
We'll give ye the slip and take a sip of the rale ould mountain dew.
Under the hill there's a little still where the smoke rolls up to the sky.
Ye'd aisy tell by a whiff of a smell there's whiskey, boys, close by;
It fills the air with perfumes rare, and, between both me and you.
When home you roll, come take a bowl of the rale ould mountain dew.
All learned men who use the pen have wrote the praises high,
Of the sweet potheen from Ireland green, distilled from the wheat and rye;
Away with pills- " twill cure the ills of Pagan, Christian and Jew,
Off wid your coat and wet your throat with the rale ould mountain dew.