A Bucket of Mountain Dew
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Let grasses grow and waters flow in a free and easy way
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But give me enough of the rare old stuff that’s made near Galway Bay
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And policemen all from Donegal, Sligo and Leitrim too
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We’ll give them the slip and we’ll take a sip of the real old Mountain Dew

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 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