A classic about the joys of Irish moonshine, Poitin!

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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 bay
And policemen all from Donegal, Sligo and Leitrim too,
We'll give 'em the slip and we'll take a sip or a bucket full of mountain dew.

At the foot of the hill there's a neat little still
where the smoke curls up to the sky
By a whiff of the smell you can plainly tell 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 take a bowl or a bucket full 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 your pills, it'll cure all ills, be ye Pagan, Christian or Jew
So take off your coat and grease your throat with a bucket full of mountain dew.