Formerly in the Irish Packet
Gather up the pots and the old tin cans
The mash, the corn, the barley and the bran,
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney.
Keep your eyes well peeled today,
The excise men are on their way,
Searching for the mountain tay
In the hills of Connemara.
Swinging to the left, swinging to the right
The excise men will dance all night
Drinkin’ up the tay till the broad daylight
In the hills of Connemara
A gallon for the butcher and a quart for John
And a bottle for poor old Father Tom
To help the poor old dear along
In the hills of Connemara
Stand your ground and don’t you fall
The excise men are at the wall
Jesus Christ! They’re drinkin’ it all!
In the hills of Connemara